CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(Monographs) 


ICIVIH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Inttituta  for  Historical  IMicroraproductioni  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  tiistoriquas 


1996 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  tecimique  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


n 


n 

D 
D 

n 

D 
D 
D 
D 


D 


Coloured  covars  / 
Couverture  de  couteur 


□     Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommagee 


Covers  restored  and^or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaurfe  et/ou  pellicula 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  geographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (I.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  lllustratkjns  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustratrens  en  couleur 

Bound  with  ottier  material  / 
Relie  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  editran  available  / 
Seule  editk>n  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin  /  La  reliure  senie  peut 
causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsran  le  long  de 
la  marge  interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restofBtkms  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  timing  /  II  se  peut  que  ceitaines 
pages  blanches  aioutees  k>re  cfune  restauratkin 
appaiaisaent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  loisque  cela  etait 
p«sible,  cas  pages  n'ont  pas  ete  Kmees. 


L'lnstitut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  examplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibll- 
ogtaphique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modifications  dans  la  m6th- 
ode  normale  de  filmage  sont  indk^ufe  ci-dessous. 

I     I     Cokxiied  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I     I     Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 

I     I     Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
' — '     Pages  restaurees  et/ou  pelllcuiees 

r^     Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
' — '     Pages  decotorees,  tachetees  ou  faqutes 

I     I     Pages  detached  /  Pages  detachees 

r^     Showthrough  /  Transparence 

□     Quality  of  print  varies/ 
QualHe  inigale  de  I'impresskin 


D 
D 


D 


Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppiementaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image  /  Les  pages 
totalement  ou  partiellement  obscurcies  par  un 
feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure,  etc.,  ont  ete  filmees 
a  nouveau  de  fafon  e  obtenir  la  meilleure 
image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the 
best  possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant 
ayant  des  colorations  variables  ou  des  decol- 
orations sont  filmees  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la 
meilleur  image  possible. 


n 


Addnkxial  comments  / 
Commentaires  stfipiementaires: 


Thii  inm  it  f ihiMd  it  th«  nduetion  ratio  dwdnd  taik»>/ 

Ct  daeunxnt  tit  lilini  au  taux  da  riductien  indiqui  ei-datwia. 

10X  14X  ItX 


22X 


26X 


• 


20X 


Tht  copy  flimad  hart  hH  b*«n  raproduead  thanks 
to  tha  ganaroaity  of: 

Stauffar  Library 
Quaan'a  Unlvarilty 

Tha  imaga*  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
poaaibia  conaidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  In  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apaelflcatlona. 


Original  copiaa  in  printad  papar  covara  ara  flimad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
aion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  flimad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  whh  a  printad  or  Illuatratad  impraa- 
sion.  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impraaaion. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microflcha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  ^^  Imaaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  ▼  (msaning  "END"), 
whiehavar  appliaa. 

Mapa,  platas.  charta,  ate,  may  ba  flimad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratioa.  Thosa  too  larga  to  ba 
antlraiy  included  in  ona  axposura  ara  flimad 
baginning  In  tha  uppar  laft  hand  comar,  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  framas  as 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  illuatrata  tha 
mathod: 


1  2  3 


1  2 

4  5 


L'wamplair*  IHm4  fut  raproduit  grtc*  i  la 
gtnAroait*  da: 


SUuffw  Librar) 
■•  Uniwrslty 


La*  imagat  tuivantat  ont  M  raproduitai  avae  la 
plua  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nottat*  da  I'aiianiplaira  film*,  at  an 
eonlormlM  avae  laa  eondltiona  du  eontrat  da 
flimaga. 

Laa  axamplalraa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  aat  imprim4«  aont  filma*  an  commanf ant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  toit  par  la 
darnitra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illuatratlon,  toit  par  la  tacond 
plat,  aalon  la  eaa.  Toua  laa  autraa  axamplaira* 
originaux  sont  fllmaa  an  commandant  par  la 
pramltra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illuatratlon  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  damlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  aymbolaa  aulvants  apparaitra  lur  la 
darniira  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha,  talon  la 
cat:  la  tymbola  — » tignifia  "A  SUIVRE  ",  la 
aymbola  V  aignifia  "FIN". 

Laa  eartaa.  planchaa,  tablaaux.  ate.  pauvant  ttra 
fllmte  a  daa  Uux  da  raduction  diffarants. 
Loraquo  la  documant  aat  trop  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  an  un  aaul  clichi.  il  art  film*  a  partir 
da  I'angla  tupariaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  t  droita. 
at  da  haut  an  baa,  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  ndcaaaaira.  llaa  diagrammaa  auivanti 
illuatrant  la  mdthoda. 


2 

3 

5 

6 

MKaOCOfY   RISOIUTION   TBt  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^  -APPLIED  IIVMGE    Inc 

^^  165 J  East  Main  Stroet 

~-S  Roch««t«r,  N«H  York        14609       USA 

1^  (716)   482  -  0300  -  Phore 

^S  (716)  288 -5989 -Fax 


I  CAME  TO  A  ROA-.  I 
WITH  GREAT  EAV- - 
ASKING   MY  WAY-- 
AND  THEY  BADE^- 


■■-v>«^* 


„  ,,a!-'£ 


WELCOME  AND  C-  F 
ME,— 

WERE  COMRADES  L—  Y 

AND  THEY  BADE  M-j- 

BUT  I  COULD  NOT  f  S' 


h 


-■i  ■>  >  • 


^^^SjiSi^^ksg- 


LAST  SONGS  Fi?^M  VAGABONDIA 


i^-^ 


b 


By  Bliss  Carman 

A  Winler  Holiday.  *<'•" 

B»11«<1.  ol  Loit  Haven  •••5 

Uthlnd  the  Arrai.  ''» 

By  the  Aureliaii  Well.  '»> 

Low  Tide  on  Grind  Prf.  .,  ,    _ 

The  Veujeance  ol  Noel  Bramid.  Nil  loo 

ItY  KiCHARIl  HOVEY 

AlongtheTr.il.  »'5° 

Uuncelot  enj  Ouenevere:  A  Foem  in 

Dramas-  , .,    ,■  .  ai 

1,  The  Q»e«  of  Merlin.  '-'J 

II.  The  Marriam  ol  Ooeneverc.  i  ;» 

III.  The  Birth  ol  Galahad.  [J^ 

'v.  The°Holy  Oraal  (i»  fr,t<mli<m).    i.S» 

liv  Bliss  C.    man  &  Richard  Hovey 
SonisofVagabondia  »'°° 

More  SonJ«  from  V  ndu  •■" 

Last  Song!  from  Vafc  ..jondia.  *-"° 

SMALL.  M>YN*RD  it  COMPANY  i  BOSTON 


LAST  SONGS 

FROM 

VAGABONDIA 

BUSS   CARMAN 
R'CHARD    HOVEY 

DESIOMS  BY 

TOM   B  METEYARD 


yA 


;»i-'><--.->ir-,-^ 


■WCJ^lifYiTH 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  AND  COMPANY 

M  DCCCC I 


-^' /'^S-^-V'iy.  ft?4Ls    i<jfo/ 


Copyright^  igoOy  by 

Small,  Mavnard  (^Company 

(incorporated) 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


CONTENTS 

AT   THE   CROSSROADS 
"AT   LAST,    O   death!" 
MAY   AND  JUNE 

PHILIP   SAVAGE 

NON  OMNIS   MORIAR 

DAY   AND   NIGHT 

THE   BATTLE   OP   MANILA 

THE  CITY   IN   THE  SEA 

SoLIDAr^"'"  °^  "■   ^"""= 

MARIGOLDS 

A   PRELUDE 

THE  NORTHERN  MUSE 

THE   TIME   AND   THE   PLACE 

UNDER  THE  ROWANS 

THE  GIRL  IN  THE  POSTER 

ON   THE   STAIRS 

THE  DESERTED   INN 

THE   OPEN   DOOR 

JAPANESE  LOVE  SONG 

"HOW  SHOULD  LOVE  KNOW?" 

UNFORESEEN 

child's  song 
harmonics 
ornithology 
to  an  iris 

BERRIS   YARE 

A  MODERN  ECLOGUE 

FROM   THE   CLIFF 

SEA  SONNETS 

AT   A   SUMMER    RESORT 

NEW  YORK 

A  GROTESQUE 

WHEN  THE  PRIEST  LEFT 

THE  GIFT  OF  ART 


R.  H. 
R.   H. 
B.    C. 
B.    C. 
B.   C. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
B.  C. 
B.   C. 
B.   c. 
B.   C. 
B.   c. 
B.    C. 
B.    C. 
B.    C. 
B.    C. 
B.    C. 
B.   C. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
B.   c. 
B.   C. 
B.   c. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 
R.  H. 


I 

2 

3 

4 

8 

lo 

i6 

i8 

21 
22 

23 
23 
26 
26 
27 
28 

31 

32 

35 
35 
36 
36 
37 
37 
38 
40 

43 

47 

49 

49 

S' 

5' 

S2 

53 

54 


46461 


TO  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 

TO  RUDYARD   KIPLING 

ROMANY  SIGNS 

THE   MAN   WITH   THE   TORTOISE 

THE   SCEPTICS 

A   THANKSGIVING 

A   STACCATO   TO  O   LE   LUPE 

A   SPRING   FEELING 

HER   VALENTINE 

IN    PHILISTIA 

PEACE 

A   LYRIC 

THE   LOST   COMRADE 

TEN   COMMANDMENTS 

QUATRAINS 

THE  ADVENTURERS  R- 


R.  H. 

54 

R.  H. 

55 

B.  C. 

55 

B.  C. 

57 

B.  C. 

61 

B.  C. 

62 

B.  C. 

62 

B.  C. 

66 

R.  H. 

68 

B.  C. 

70 

R.  H. 

72 

R.  H. 

74 

B.  C. 

75 

R.  H. 

77 

R.  H. 

78 

H.  a,d  B.  C.  78 

AT  THE   CROSSROADS 

YOU  to  the  left  and  I  to  the  right 
For  the  ways  of  men  must  sever  — 
And  It  we    may  be  for  a  day  and  a  night, 
And  It  well  may  be  forever. 
But  whether  we  meet  or  whether  we  part 
(For  our  ways  are  past  our  knowing), 
A  p  edge  from  the  heart  to  its  fellow  heart 
On  the  ways  we  all  are  going ' 
Here 's  luck  !  * 

For  we  know  not  where  we  are  going. 

We  have  striven  fair  in  love  and  war, 

But  the  wheel  was  always  weighted : 

We  have  lost  the  prize  that  we  struggled  for 

We  have  won  the  prize  that  was  fated.  ' 

We  have  met  our  loss  with  a  smile  and  a  song 

And  our  gams  with  a  wink  and  a  whistle,  -  ^ 

wrong,*  ""'■■*   "S*"  °'  ^''"•'"   ^v^'re 

There 's  a  rose  for  every  thistle. 
Here 's  luck  — 
And  a  drop  to  wet  your  whistle  ! 

Whether  we  win  or  whether  we  lose 
With  the  hands  that  life  is  dealing 

K.-'f^rS"^?  Tu""^  "'^J''  ™«  -choose 
But  the  fall  of  the  cards  that's  sealing. 

In^'l'  I  ^^"^  i"  '°™  '"'^  »  f"e  in  fight. 
And  the  best  of  us  all  go  under  — 

righT,''*"'"  '^'""^  '"°"^  °''  *''^"'"  "'^'■■e 
We  win,  sometimes,  to  our  wonder. 
Here  's  luck  — 

That  we  may  not  yet  go  under ! 
I 


cr«.r<^  ,^'"1*  "!*''y  •'«;•"?  ""d  an  open  brow 
We  have  tramped  the  ways  together, 
But  we  're  clasping  hands  at  the  crossroads  now 
In  the  Fiend's  own  night  for  weather ; 
And  whether  we  bleed  or  whether  we  smile 
In  the  leagues  that  lie  before  us, 
The  ways  of  life  are  many  a  mile 
And  the  dark  of  Fate  is  o'er  us. 
Here 's  luck ! 
And  a  cheer  for  the  dark  before  us  I 

You  to  the  left  and  I  to  the  right, 

For  the  ways  of  men  must  sever, 

And  it  well  may  be  for  a  day  and  a  night, 

And  it  well  may  be  forever  f 

But  whether  we  live  or  whether  we  die 

(For  the  end  is  past  our  knowing). 

Here  's  two  frank  hearts  and  the  open  sky, 

Be  a  fair  or  an  ill  wind  blowing ! 

Here 's  luck ! 

In  thu  teeth  of  all  winds  blowing. 


MA 


"AT   LAST,   O   DEATH  "    A  fragment 

AT  last,  O  death  ! 
Not  with  the  sick-room  fever  and  weary  heart 
And  slow  subsidence  of  diminished  breath  — 
But  strong  and  free 

With  the  great  tumult  of  the  living  sea. 
Behold,  I  have  loved. 
And  though  I  wept  for  the  long  sundering, 
I  did  not  fear  thee.  Death,  nor  then  nor  now. 
I  girded  up  my  loins  and  sought  my  kind. 
And  did  a  man's  work  in  a  world  of  men, 
2 


J 

c 
1 
1 

Jl 
u 

B 
A 


Not  c'^™^  Zn"  r^:""^  '""^.""«'j  '*  good-  "^'  ^«'. 

i„  .k.      •!•      ''",•  '"  ""=  '•'ape  I   ove  the  beat      O D,aU," 

I  civM*"'  '"{'■''y  «"-""ing  Of  the  sea, 
1  give  thee  welcome.  ' 


MAY  AND   JUNE 

IV/TAY  comes,  day  comes, 

iiT.L  "^  "'"'  ***  ^w^y  comes; 
All  the  earth  is  glad  again. 
Kind  and  fair  to  me. 

May  comes,  day  comes. 
One  who  was  away  comes; 
Set  his  place  at  hearth  and  board 
As  they  used  to  be. 

May  comes,  day  comes, 
One  who  was  away  comes ; 
Higher  are  the  hills  of  home. 
Bluer  is  the  sea. 


T 

June  comes,  and  the  moon  comes 
Out  of  the  curving  sea, 
Like  a  frail  golden  bubble, 
To  hang  in  the  lilac  tree. 

June  comes,  and  a  croon  comes 
Up  from  the  old  gray  sea. 
But  not  the  longed-for  footstep 
And  the  voice  at  the  door  for  me. 
3 


PHILIP   SAVAGE 

FIELDS  by  Massachusetts  Bay, 
Where  is  he  who  yesterday 

Called  you  Home,  and  loved  to  go 
Where  the  cherry  spreads  her  snow, 

Through  the  purple  misty  woods 
Of  your  soft  spring  solitudes. 

Listening  for  the  first  fine  gush 
Of  his  fellow,  the  shy  thrush  — 

Hearkening  some  diviner  tone 
Than  our  ears  have  ever  known  f 

Woodland-musing  by  the  hour 
When  the  locust  comes  in  flower, 

He  would  watch  by  hill  and  swamp 
Every  sign  of  her  green  pomp 

Where  your  matchless  June  once  more 
Leads  her  passant  up  the  shore. 

Slopes  of  bayberry  and  fern. 
While  you  wait  for  his  return, 

Can  it  be  that  he  would  test 
Some  far  region  of  the  West, 


Tracking  some  great  river  course 
To  its  undiscovered  source  ? 
4 


Or  an  idler  would  he  be 
in  the  Islands  of  the  Sea  ? 

Can  it  be  that  he  is  gone, 
Like  so  many  a  roving  one, 

The  dread  Arctic  to  explore. 
Never  to  be  heard  of  more— 

Or  with  those  who  sail  away 
Every  year  from  Gloucester  Bay 

When  the  fishing  fleets  come  home  ? 

Sl°9y  "Plands  where  the  quail 
Whistles  by  th«  pasture  rail, 

Where  is  one  to  whom  you  lent 
ut  your  wise  serene  content, 

fe'f'"fy°"f  pagan  psalm 
With  an  Emersonian  calm  ? 

Open  fields  along  the  sea 
T  was  your  sweet  sincerity 

Made  him  what  his  fellows  knew. 
Sober,  gentle,  sane  and  true. 

Whippoorwill  and  oriole, 

He  had  your  untarnished  soul ; 

i 


SaxMgt 


riuiit    He  your  steadfast  brother  was, 
savap  ij3„|y  figld-bird  of  the  grass. 

Shores  of  Massachusetts  Bay, 
Teach  us  only  in  our  day 

Half  as  well  your  face  to  love 
And  your  loving  kindness  prove. 

Now  the  wind  he  loved  so  well 
Makes  the  dune  grass  rock  and  swell. 

And  the  marshy  acras  run 
White  with  charlock  in  the  sun, 

Should  he  not  be  here  to  see 
All  your  brave  felicity  ! 

Through  these  orchards  green  and  dim, 
Whose  old  calm  was  good  to  him. 

Let  the  tiny  yellow  birds 

Still  repeat  their  shining  words. 

While  across  our  senses  steal 
Hints  of  things  no  words  reveal. 

Let  the  air  he  used  to  know 
From  the  iris  meadows  blow. 


At  evening  throug'.i  the  open  door 
With  the  cool  scents  of  the  shore, 
6 


While  acroM  our  spirits  sweep 
Sia-turns  from  a  vister  deep 

Sunlit  fields,  how  gently  now 
Your  white  daisies  nod  and  bow, 

Grieve  not  for  a  mortal  one  ! 

Only  the  old  sea  the  more 
ieems  to  whisper  and  deplore, 

WitlTho!"^ '""'  ".'Childless  crone 
With  her  sorrow  left  alone  — 

The  eternal  human  cry 
lo  the  heedless  passer  by. 

AnT.h!f•r'^''''^yS'"•  c'-annels  fill 
And  the  June  birds  have  their  will. 

While  the  elms  along  your  edge 
Wave  aoove  the  rusty  sedge, 

And  the  bobolinks  day  lone 
Ply  their  juggleries  of  song. 

While  the  sailing  ships  go  by 
To  their  ports  below  the  sky. 

Still  the  old  Thalassian  blue 
Bounds  this  lovely  world  for  you 
7 


PMif 
Savaft 


PKUif    And  the  lost  horizon  lies 
smmgt  pjjj  ygj,,  wonder  or  surmise. 

Fields  by  Massachusetts  Bay, 
When  your  questioner  shall  say, 

"  Where  is  he  who  should  have  been 
Poet  of  your  lovely  mien, 

And  your  soul's  interpreter? " 
Answer,  every  larch  and  tir, 

"  He  was  here,  but  he  is  gone. 
Some  high  purpose  not  his  own 

Summoned  his  unwasttd  powers 
From  our  common  woods  and  flowers. 

All  too  soon  from  our  abode 
Back  he  wended  to  the  ro^d. 

Rich  in  love,  if  not  in  fame. 
Philip  Savage  was  his  name." 


NON    OMNIS  MORIAR 

IN   MEMORY  OF  GLEESON  WHITE 

THIS  paragraph  cannot  be  true ; 
For  such  a  man  could  not  have  died. 
Death  is  so  lonely,  hard  and  cold,  — 
Not  gentleness  personified. 


V\  hat  manner  wa.  it  in  the  man 
1  hat  malcea  the  story  seem  '.ntrue  ? 
Death  „  for  figliters,  rakes    .nd  kings ; 
Malice  nor  greed  he  never  knew. 

He  never  seemed  to  strive  to  live  ■ 
H  s  spirit  was  too  sure  for  strife,  — 
I  oo  glad,  unquerulous  and  fair, 
lo  take  the  sordid  tinge  of  life. 

The  pompous  folly  of  the  world 
Could  never  touch  that  radiant  mien  • 
He  moved  unstained  amonp-  thj  crowd 
l^yai,  courageous,  and  serene. 

No  bargainer  for  weaith  nor  fame 
Nor  place,  his  was  a  better  part,  — 

Is  f'r^.P'^  '°™  °f  »"  his  kind, 
And  lifelong  fervour  in  his  art. 

It  must  have  been  his  charity. 
That  tender  human  heart  of  his, 
That  rare  unfailing  kindliness. 
Could  make  his  death  seem  so  amiss. 

In  London  where  he  lived  and  toiled 
1  saw  him  smile  across  the  throne,  ' 
The  unembittered  smile  of  those 
Whose  sweetness  triumphs  over  wrong. 

With  that  unvexed  Chaucerian  mood, 
1  hat  zest  unsevered  from  repose. 
He  is  as  wise  as  Omar  now. 
Or  any  Master  of  the  Rose. 
9 


AV»i  Omnii 
Mortar 


fttn  Ommii  And  here  in  the  November  duik 
.i/wiur       There  comei  an  echo,  faint  and  tar, 
Of  that  gay,  valiant,  careless  voice 
That  cried,  NoH  omnis  moriar  I 

V  'hind  the  maslc  of  lore  and  creed 
There  dwells  an  instinct,  strong  and  blind, 
Refuting  sorrow,  bidding  grief 
He  something  better  than  resigned. 

There  is  a  part  of  me  that  knows, 
Beneath  incertitude  and  fear, 
I  shall  not  perish  when  1  pass 
Beyond  morulity's  frontier; 

But  greatly  having  joyed  and  grieved, 
Greatly  content,  shall  hear  the  sigh 
Of  the  strange  wind  across  the  lone 
Bright  lands  of  tociturnity. 

In  patience  therefore  1  await 

My  friend's  unchanged  benign  regai     — 

Some  April  when  I  too  shall  be 

Spilt  water  from  a  broken  shard. 


DAY  AND  NIGHT 

tSiad  al  l/u  Sixty-sixth  Annual  ammtim  ofthtPlI 
Upsitcn  Pratirnity,  at  Cornell  Unnirsily,  1899.) 

FAIR  college  of  the  quiet  inland  lake 
And  beautiful  fair  name  that  like  a  bell 
Rings  out  its  clear  sheer  call  of  joy,  Cornell  !  — 
Its  call  of  high  ui.daunted  dares  that  take 
10 


The  hearts  of  men  with  fcrvouri  for  thy  «ake      jR"'.*"^ 
And  for  thy  sake  with  audden  hopes  that  swell,      '' 
Hail  first  to  thee,  with  praise  for  thy  bold  youth, 
Thy  fearless  challenge  in  the  ranks  of  truth, 
Thy  forward  footinz  into  the  unhnown  I 
The  new  in  knowledge  that  is  old  in  being 
Wrenched  from  the  dark  and  mominged  for  our 

seeing  — 
This  is  the  legend  on  thy  banners  blown. 


tPil 

.) 


\\  — 


Mightier  the  foes  yet  that  are  still  to  smite, 
Ana  fiercer  yet  the  fields  we  still  must  fight, 
But  thou,  a  David  of  the  sunrise  cause, 
In  the  first  dawn  of  the  defiant  day, 
Startled  the  mumbling  hosts  that  bar  the  way  — 
Thou,  a  young  Spartan  of  the  days  to  be. 
Made  the  vast  hordes  of  Persian  darkness  p,iuse 
And  bade  our  band  think  of  Thermopylae- 
Day  —  yes,  the  day  for  thee  I  but  all  we  men 
Are  twofold,  having  need  of  day  and  night. 
Day  for  the  mind,  the  ardour  of  the  fight, 
Night  for  the  soul  and  silence.     So  again 
To  thee  I  turn,  O  one  of  manv  stars 
That  make  the  loyal  heaven  glorious 
But  dear  among  the  innumerable  to  uc, 
Psi  I'psilon,  and  resting  from  the  scars 
Of  day,  the  brunt  of  battle,  lift  thv  song, 
"  Now  for  the  joys  of  night ! "  —  tney  sing  it  still 
In  the  old  chapters  where  we  had  our  fill 
Of  fun  and  fellowship  and  frank  good  will, 
I  and  my  fellows,  when  vie  too  were  young. 
"  Soft  as  a  dream  of  beauty  "  —  hark,  again ! 
Here's  to  his  right  good  health  who  sang  that 
strain  \ 


D^yj^  Come  with  me  into  the  night  — 

"«■«       -The  intimate  embracing  night; 
The  night  is  still; 
And  we  may  walk  from  hill  to  hill 
Silent,  with  but  the  murmur  of  our  souls, 
As  through  the  woods  the  murmur  of  the  night. 
—  Ah,  take  your  heaven  of  undying  light, 
Of  glare  of  gold  and  glint  of  aureoles  ! 
I  thmk  God  keeps  for  us  somewhere 
A  place  of  cool  dusks  and  caressing  air. 
Where  all  the  greens  and  yellows  dream  of  blue 
And  all  the  rainbow  hints  itself  in  hue 
But  never  speaks  outright,  — 
Never  unveils 

The  unmistakable  red  or  violet. 
But  lets  all  colour  die  to  a  perfume. 

Is  it  the  flapping  of  sails 

And  the  lurch  of  a  jibing  boom 

Where  a  boat  comes  round,  below,  on  the  lake, 

to  set 
Off  shore  again  ?    How  clear, 
Like  the  league-distant  hills  that  seem  so  near 
In  the  thin  air  of  Colorado,  rise 
The  voices  of  the  merry-making  crew 
Over  the  waters,  —  songs  of  love  that  strew 
The  silence  with  the  roses  of  surmise ! 

Hark! 

There  is  no  sound  beneath  the  sky 
But  sails  that  flap  and  oars  that  feather 
And  the  low  water  whispering  by 
In  the  June  weather. 

My  love  and  /, 
My  love  and  I, 
My  love  and  I  together  / 
12 


ht. 


lue 


ke, 


The  starlight  lies  upon  the  lake  Da,  and 

Like  dreams  of  vanished  days  and  viewless  '^'■^ *' 

Earth  never  shall  recall  awake, 

The  dim  lost  Thules  ! 

My  love  and  /, 

My  love  and  /, 

My  love  and  I  together  ! 

The  soft  wind  stirs  among  the  firs, 
2'he,  great  stars  wait  above  and  seek  not; 
The  night  is  full  of  ministers 
For  souls  that  speak  not. 

My  Iwe  and  /, 

Afy  love  and  I, 

My  love  and  I  together  ! 

I  wonder  whether  you  and  I 
Are  real,  love  —  I  wander  whether ! 
I  only  know  that,  live  or  die. 
We  dream  together. 

My  love  and  I, 

My  love  and  I, 

My  love  and  I  together  ! 

Far,  so  far  — 

The  song  dies  on  the  waters  like  a  star 

That  founders  in  the  surges  of  the  dawn. 

Ah,  the  great  Night ! 
The  far  phantasmal  Night ! 
The  delicate  dim  aisles  and  domes  of  dream ! 
Loosed  from  the  mind,  set  free 
From  thought  and  memory. 
The  soul  goes  naked  into  the  vast  stream 
13 


'n'^  Of  musing  spirit  like  a  careless  Faun,  — 
''^         The  soul  lies  naked  to  tlie  summer  night. 

Night  of  the  clasped  hands  of  comrades !  Night 

of  the  kiss 
Of  lovers  trembling  at  love's  mysteries  ! 
Night  of  desire ! 

Night  of  the  gaslight-necklaced  city !     Night 
Of  revel  and  laughter  and  delight ! 
Nipht  of  the  starlit  Sea  ! 

Night  of  the  waves  shot  with  strange  witch-fire ! 
Night  of  sleep ! 
Night  of  dream ! 
Night  of  the  lonely  soul  under  the  stars ! 

6ut  ever  the  self  put  away 

With  the  day, 

And  the  soul  soaring,  glorying  into  the  night ! 

Night ! 

The  masked  mysterious  Night ! 

The  infinite  unriddled  beautiful  Witch  I 

The  Sibyl  of  the  universal  Doom ! 

This  is  the  joy  of  man's  spirit  — 
When  peace  falls, 
Unknown,  undivined,  inexplicable. 
Over  the  face  of  the  world. 

Oh,  praise  for  the  glory  of  battle  —  the  Day  and 

its  strife  ! 
And  praise  for  the  sweat  and  the  struggle,  the 

turmoil  of  life ! 
But  the  work  is  not  wrought  for  the  working, 

increase  for  increase; 
'4 


We  toil  for  the  rest  that  comes  after,  we  battle  n-ra-J 

for  peace.  i^ighi 

Let  us  take  up  our  work  every  man,  meet  our 

fate  with  a  cheer  — 
But  the  best  is  the  clasped  hands  of  comrades 

when  nightfall  is  near. 
The  best  is  the  rest  and  the  friendship,  the  calm 

of  the  soul 
When  the  stars  are  in  heaven  and  the  runner 

lies  down  at  the  goal. 

Let  us  take  up  our  work  as  a  nation,  the  work 

of  the  day, 
Clasp  hands  with  our  brothers  of  England  — 

and  who  shall  say  nay  ? 
And  who  shall  say  nay  to  our  navies  —  the  ships 

of  us,  sons  of  tlie  Sea .' 
And  who  shall  say  nay  to  our  Empires,  to  the 

Law  that  we  set  for  the  free .' 
But  the  best  is  the  bond  that 's  between  us,  the 

bond  of  the  brothers  in  blood, 
The  bond  of  the  men  who  keep  silence,  as  the 

night  when  it  falls  on  the  flood. 
As  the  night  when  it  falls  on  the  vastness,  the 

splendour  and  lone  of  the  wave. 
The  bond  of  the  English  forever,  the  bond  of 

the  free  and  the  brave ! 

And  at  last  when  the  '  ^les  are  silent  or  call 
but  to  rouse 

A  cheer  for  the  memory  of  crowned  and  victori- 
ous brows. 

When  the  drums  beat  no  more  to  the  battle  and 
smitten  in  one,  ' 

The  hearts  of  the  nations  uplift  but  one  sons  to 
the  sun,  ° 

'S 


Da^'od  When,  the  Law  once  made  good  for  all  peoples 

by  stress  of  the  sword, 
The  spent  world  shall  rest  from  its  wrestling, 

clasp  hands  in  accord, 
Then,  best  of  all  bests,  in  the  silence  that  falls 

on  man's  soul. 
We  shall  feel  we  are   comrades  and   brothers 

from  tiopic  to  pole. 
All  men  by  the  pledge  of  their  manhood  made 

one  in  the  will 
To  achieve  for  all  men  as  their  fellows  each 

conquest  o'er  ill. 
No  glory  or  beauty  or  music  o.  triumph  or  mirth 
If  It  be  not  made  good  for  the  least  of  the  sons 

of  the  earth. 
And  the  bond  of  all  bonds  shall  be  manhood, 

the  right  of  all  rights 
The  right  to  the  hearts  of  our  fellows,  to  the 

love  that  requites 
All  the  strain  and  the  pain  and  the  fag,  all  the 

wrench  of  the  day. 
When  the  stars  shine  at  last  in  the  heavens  and 

Night  has  its  way. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   MANILA    A  fragment 

BY  Cavite  on  the  bay 
'T  was  the  Spanish  squadron  lay ; 
And  the  red  dawn  w;.s  creeping 
O'er  the  city  that  lay  sleeping 
To  the  east,  like  a  bride,  in  the  May. 
There  was  peace  at  Manila, 
In  the  May  men  at  Manila,  — 
i6 


When  ho.  the  Spanish  admiral 
Awoke  to  find  our  line 

Had  laughed  at  shoal  and  mine, 
And  flung  to  the  skv  its  banners 
With     Remember  '^  for  a  sign ! 

With  the  ships  of  Spain  before 
In  the  shelter  of  the  shore, 
And  the  forts  on  the  right, 
l''^  drew  forward  to  the  fight, 

fn-tttfo'fSi^:^^"^"'^""^-''-' 
In  the  doomed  bay  of  Manila  — 
With  succour  half  tlie  world  away. 
No  port  beneath  that  sky,  ^' 

An'i  V  °'I]''"S  !""  ^^"'"'  «'"Ps  and  guns 
And  Yankee  pluck  to  try  * 

They  had  left  retreat  behind  them, 

i  hey  had  come  to  win  or  die  ! 

For  we  spoke  at  Manila, 

We  said  it  at  Manila, 

Oh  be  ye  brave,  or  be  ye  strong, 

It  ^'"fy""^  ships  in  vain  ;    * 

The  child-ren  of  the  sea  queen's  brood 

.'^'""o'g'veupthemain; 

W  e  hold  (he  sea  against  the  world 

As  we  held  it  against  Spain. 

Be  warned  by  Manila, 
Take  warning  by  Manila, 

V^m^y^i^^^dMjL'a^n^-irfe™?'^^^'''^'-''- 
17 


T*t  Ball/, 


^h.^'V'   But  go  not  down  to  the  sea  in  ships 

For  England  and  America 
Will  keep  and  hold  the  sea ! 


THE   CITY   IN   THE   SEA 

ONCE  of  old  there  stood  a  fabled  city 
By  the  Breton  sea, 
Towered  and  belled  and  flagged  and  wreathed 

and  pennoned 
For  the  pomp  of  Yuletide  revelry ; 
All  its  folk,  adventurous,  sea-daring. 
Gay  as  gay  could  be. 


And  at  night  when  window,  torch,  and  bonfire 
Lighted  up  the  sky, 

Down  the  wind  came  galleon  and  pinnace. 
Steered  for  that  red  lantern,  riding  high  ; 
Every  brown  hand  hard  upon  the  tiller, 
Shoreward  every  eye. 

Well  I  see  that  hardy  Breton  sailor 
With  the  bearded  lip,  — 
How  he  laughed  out,  holding  his  black  racer 
Where  the  travelling  sea-hills  climb  and  slip, 
Chased  by  storm  and  lighted  on  to  haven, 
Ship  by  homing  ship. 


Every  sail  came  in,  like  doep-sea  rovers 
Who  have  heard  afar 
Wild  and  splendid  hyperborean  rumours 
i8 


Of  a  respite  made  to  feud  and  war,  —  rh.  cny  •» 

Making  port  where  sea-wreck  and  disaster  '*'  ■*'"■ 

Should  not  vex  them  more. 

What  of  Ys  ?  Where  was  it  when  gray  morning 
Gloomed  o'er  Brittany  ?  * 

Smothered  out  in  elemental  fury, 
Wrecked  and  whelmed  in  the  engulfing  sea. 
To  become  the  name  of  a  sea-story 
In  lost  legendry. 

In  my  heart  there  is  a  sunken  city. 

Wonderful  as  Ys. 

All  day  long  I  hear  the  mellow  tolling 

Of  Its  sweet-sad  lonely  bells  of  peace 

Rocked  by  tides  that  wash  through  all  its  portals 

Without  let  or  cease. 

Pale  and  fitful  as  the  wan  auroras 

Are  Its  nights  and  days  ; 

In  from  nowhere  flush  the  drafty  sea-turns 

By  forgotten  and  neglected  ways ; 

Through  the  entries  and  the  doors  of  being 

I  hat  faint  music  strays ; 

Tolling  back  the  wandered  and  the  way-worn 
From  far  alien  lands;  ^ 

Tolling  back  the  gipsy  child  of  beauty 
With  mysterious  and  soft  commands ; 
lolling  back  the  spirit  that  within  me 
Hears  and  understands. 

Then  some  iMa;:  night,  with  a  scent  of  lilacs 
In  the  magic  air, 

19 


^1 


ti^St^"'  Throueh  the  moonlight  and  the  mad  spring 
weather, 
(Old  love's  fervour  and  new  love's  despair), 
I  go  down  to  my  familiar  city. 
Roaming  court  and  square. 

Of  a  sudden  at  a  well-known  corner, 
In  the  densest  throng. 
Unexpected  at  the  very  moment 
As  an  April  robin's  gush  of  song, 
Some  one  smiles ;  and  there 's  the  perfect  com- 
rade 
I  have  missed  so  long. 

Then,  at  just  the  touch  of  hand  on  shoulder 

Bidding  grief  be  gone, 

I  forget  the  loneliness  of  travel 

For  the  while  the  parted  ways  are  one,  — 

Know  the  meaning  of  the  world's  great  gladness 

Underneath  the  sun. 

That 's  the  story  of  my  sounding  sea-bells, 

Chiming  all  night  long,  — 

The  eternal  cadence  of  sea-sorrow 

For  Man's  lot  and  immemorial  wrong,  — 

The  lost  strain  that  haun's  this  human  dwelling 

With  a  ghost  of  song. 


Naj;,  but  is  there  any  lost  sea-city 
Buried  in  the  main. 

Where  we  shall  go  down  in  days  hereafter, 
Having  said  good-bye  to  grief  and  pain, 
Joy  and  love  at  last  maue  one  witli  beauty. 
Glad  and  free  again  ? 

20 


nll^uT  "°' '  ""''•  *''"*  ^m"  'he  tolling  r*,  c,/, , 
Of  my  bells  once  more,  *  i*t  Sea 

That  far-heard  and  faint  fantastic  music 

From  my  city  by  the  perilous  shore, 

Sounding  the  imperious  alleciance 

I  shall  not  deplore. 


^"  Tvi^T?'^?'^  ^^  ST.   EULALIE 
TN  the  October  afternoon 
XOrange  and  purple  and  maroon, 

Goes  quiet  Autumn,  lamp  in  hand, 
About  the  apple-coloured  land. 

To  light  in  every  apple-tree 
The  Lanterns  ot  St.  Eulalie. 

They  glimmer  in  the  orchard  shade 
Like  fiery  opals  set  In  jade,  — 

Crimson  and  russet  and  raw  gold, 
Yellow  and  green  and  scarlet  old. 

And  O  when  I  am  far  away 
By  foaming  reel  or  azure  bay,. 

In  crowded  street  or  hot  lagoon. 

Or  under  the  strange  austral  moon,  — 

When  the  honesitkness  comes  on  me 
i'or  the  great  .v/arshes  by  the  sea, 

21 


"*  ^?"^     '"''*  "inning  dike*,  the  brimming  tide, 
smX       And  the  da?k  fir»  on  Fundy  tide, 

In  dream  once  more  I  shall  behold, 
Like  signal  lights,  those  globes  of  gold 

Hung  out  in  every  apple-tree  — 
The  Lanterns  of  St.  Eulalie. 


HOLIDAY 

WHAT  is  this  joy  to-day, 
Hope,  reparation,  reprieve  ? 

Out  of  the  sweltering  city, 

Out  of  the  blaring  streets 

And  narrow  houses  of  men. 

The  seaboard  express  for  the  North 

Forges,  and  settles  for  flight 

Into  the  great  blue  summer. 

The  wide,  sweet,  opulent  noon. 

Farewell  despondency,  fear, 
Ambition,  and  pitiless  greed, 
And  sordid  unlovely  regrets  I 
And  thou,  frail  spirit  in  me, 
My  journey-fellow  these  years. 
Behold,  thy  brothers  the  elms, 
And  thy  sisters  the  daisies,  are  here. 
Thou,  too,  shall  grow  and  be  glad. 
Companioned  of  innocence  now, 
In  the  long  hours  of  joy. 

22 


\   J 


How  will  it  be  that  day, 
When  the  darlt  train  is  ready, 
And  the  Inexorable  gong 
Sounds  on  the  platform  of  Time 


MARIGOLDS 

THE  marigolds  are  noddinc ; 
I  wonder  what  they  know? 
Go,  listen  very  gently ; 
You  may  persuade  them  so. 

Go,  be  their  little  brother, 
As  humble  as  the  grass, 
And  lean  upon  the  hill-wind. 
And  watch  the  shadows  pass. 

Put  off  the  pride  of  knowledge 
Put  by  the  fear  of  pain ; 
You  may  be  counted  worthy 
To  live  with  them  again. 

Be  Darwin  in  your  patience, 
Be  Chaucer  in  your  love ; 
They  may  relent  and  tell  you 
What  they  are  thinking  of. 


A   PRELUDE 

THIS  is  the  sound  of  the  Word 
From  the  waters  of  sleep. 
The  rain-soft  voice  that  was  heard 
23 


H4litUr 


A  Pniti,   On  the  face  of  the  deep, 

When  the  foe  wai  drawn  back  like  a  veil,  and 

the  untinertides 
Were  given  thei'  thresholds  to  keep. 

The  South  Wind  said,  '•  Come  forth," 
And  the  West  Wind  said,  "  Go  far ! " 
And  the  silvery  sea-folk  heard. 
Where  their  weed  tents  are. 
From  the  long  slow  lift  of  the  blue  through  the 
•  Carib  keys, 

To  the  thresh  on  Sable  bar. 

This  is  the  Word  that  went  by. 

Over  sun-land  and  swale, 

The  long  Aprilian  cry. 

Clear,  joyous,  and  hale, 

When  the  summons  went  forth  to  the  wild  sliy 

broods  of  the  air, 
To  bid  them  once  more  to  the  trail. 

The  South  Wind  said,  "  Come  forth," 

And  the  West  Wind  said,  "  Be  swift ! " 

And  the  fluttering  sky-folk  heard. 

And  the  warm  dark  tnrift 

Of  the  nomad  blood  revived,  „i  !  they  gathered 

for  flight, 
By  column  and  pair  and  drift. 

This  is  the  sound  of  the  Word 

From  bud-sheath  and  blade. 

When  the  reedc  and  the  erasses  conferred. 

And  a  gold  beam  was  laid 

At  the  taciturn  doors  of  the  forest,  where  tarried 

the  Sun, 
For  a  sign  they  should  not  be  dismayed. 
*4 


The  South  Wind  »ald,  "  Comi  /brth," 

And  the  West  Wind  said,  "  Be  glad !  " 

The  abidinj;  wood-follt  heard, 

In  their  new  green  clad. 

Sanguine,  mitt-silver,  and  rose,  while  the  tap  In 

their  veins 
Welled  up  at  of  old  all  unsad. 

This  is  the  Word  that  flew 

Over  snow-marsh  and  glen. 

When  the  frost-bound  slumberers  knew. 

In  tree-trunk  and  den, 

Their  bidding  had  come,  they  questioned  not 

whence  nor  why,  — 
T.iey  reckoned  not  whither  nor  when. 

The  South  Wind  said,  "  Come  forth," 

And  the  West  Wind  said,  "  Be  wise  !  " 

The  wintering  ground-folk  heard. 

Put  the  dark  from  their  eyes. 

Put  the  sloth  from  sinew  and  thew,  to  wander 

and  dare,  — 
Forever  the  old  surmise ! 

This  is  the  Word  that  came 

To  the  spirit  of  Man, 

And  shook  his  soul  like  a  flame 

In  the  breath  of  a  fan, 

Till  it  burned  as  a  light  in  his  eyes,  as  a  colour 

that  grew 
And  prospered  under  the  tan. 


The  South  Wind  said,  "  Come  forth," 
And  the  West  Wind  said,  "  Be  free  !  " 
=5 


A  PnlutU 


Then  he  rose  and  put  on  the  new  garb, 

And  knew  he  should  be 

The  master   of   knowledge    and    joy, 

sprung  from  the  tribes 
Of  the  earth  and  the  air  and  the  sea. 


though 


THE   NORTHERN   MUSE 

THE  Northern  Muse  looked  up 
Into  the  ancient  tree, 
Where  hang  the  seven  olives. 
And  twine  the  roses  three. 

I  heard,  like  the  eternal 
Susurrus  of  the  sea. 
Her  Scire  quod  sciendum 
Da  mihi,  Domine ! 


THE   TIME   AND    THE   PLACE 
"  TVrEVER  the  time  and  the  place 

1 M  And  the  loved  one  all  together  ! 
Ah,  Browning,  that  does  to  tell ! 
liut  I  have  an  eagle  feather 
Hid  in  my  waistcoat  too. 

Yes.  once  in  the  wild  June  weather, 
In  (;od's  own  North  befell 
The  joy  not  time  shall  undo 
Nor  the  storm  of  years  efface. 
26 


Ah,  master  Browning,  vou  hear  ? 

if  ever  the  time  and  t'  .  place 

With  aught  of  thy  mo  -1  concur, 

Far  oiiE  in  my  goPci:  yt:  i.-. 

The  solstice  ofm    prime, 

Youth  done,  age  jn*  ''egun. 

The  moment  that  jioiU  is  ripo 

For  the  little  touc;    I'.h--:,; 

Then  hearlcen  !     If  there'' but' stir 

One  breath  of  the  Spirit  of  earth 

Through  me  his  frail  reed-pipe, 

(As  the  hermit-thrush 

Rehearses  the  scene  when  the  joy  of  the  world 

had  birth, 
So  sure,  so  fine, 
Disturbing  the  hush,) 
You  shall  hearken,  and  hear 
Take  rapture  and  sense  and  form  in  one  perfect 

Ime 
A  golden  lyric  of  Her ! 


Place 


UNDER   THE    ROWANS 
T  SAW  a  little  river 
1  Running  beside  a  wall, 
And  over  it  hung  scarlet 
The  berried  rowans  tall. 


Beside  it  for  a  moment 
The  summer-time  delayed; 
And  cooler  fell  the  sunlight 
Through  centuries  of  shade. 
27 


UtuUrihi    And  there  was  laughing  Bronwen 
"'"■'"'       A-wading  to  the  knee. 

While  still  the  foolish  water 
Went  racing  to  the  sea. 

I  whistled,  "  Love,  come  over !  " 
She  was  too  wild  to  fear 
I  The  wildness  of  the  forest, 

The  ruin  of  the  year. 

'  ■»  '  And  when  the  stars  above  us 

Hung  in  the  rowans  high, 
It  was  the  little  river 
That  made  our  lullaby. 

Indoors,  to-night,  and  fire-dreama ! 
And  where  1  wander,  far 
Within  a  shining  country 
That  needs  no  calendar. 

There  is  a  little  river 
Running  beside  a  wall, 
And  over  it  hang  scarlet 
The  berried  rowans  tall. 


THE   GIRL   IN   THE   POSTER 

FOR   A   DESIGN   BY   ETHEL   REED 

WITH  her  head  in  the  golden  Ulies, 
She  reads  and  is  never  done. 
Why  her  girlish  face  so  still  is, 
I  know  not  under  the  sun. 
28 


She  is  the  soul  of  a  woman, 
Knowing  whatever  befalls  ; 
And  I  a  lonely  human. 
Dwelling  within  her  walls. 

She  is  the  fair  immortal 
Daughter  of  truth  and  art ; 
And  I,  at  her  lowly  portal, 
May  fare  and  be  glad  and  depart. 

In  a'  region  forever  vernal, 
.She  keeps  her  lilied  state,  — 
My  beautiful  calm  eternal 
Mysteriarch  of  fate. 

In  a  volume  great  and  golden, 
Would  better  beseem  a  sage. 
Her  downcast  look  is  holden  ; 
Hut  I  cannot  see  the  page. 

Picture,  or  printed  column. 
Or  records,  or  cipherings,  — 
From  the  drooping  lids  so  solemn 
I  guess  at  marvellous  things. 

Is  it  a  rune  sh.  rs. 

Word  from  an  ^  .;       ,,ime. 

Where  the  spirii  quests  and  wanders 

i  lirough  long  sidereal  time  > 

Would  she  trammel  her  heart,  or  cumber 
Her  mmd  with  our  mortal  needs .' 
Do  the  shadows  quake  and  slumber 
On  the  book  wherein  she  reads .' 
29 


r/ir  Girl  in 
tit  PatlT 


fh'p''/ '"  '  '"'ow  "O'-     '  know  her  being 
'    "'"'     Is  impulse  and  mood  to  mine, 

Till  I  voyage,  without  foreseeing 
For  a  lost  horizon  line. 

For  her  the  spacious  morrow ; 
But  the  humble  day  for  me, 
In  the  little  house  of  sorrow 
By  the  unbefriending  sea. 

Her  hair  Is  a  rave  i  glory ; 
,     .  Her  chin  is  pointed  and  small ; 

I   !  j  What  is  the  wonderful  story 

Keeps  her  forever  in  thrall  ? 

Her  mouth  is  little  and  childly ; 
Her  brow  is  innocent  broad ; 
Meekly  she  reads  and  mildly,  — 
Woula  neither  condemn  nor  applaud. 

Would  that  I  too,  a-reading. 
Might  half  of  her  wisdom  find, 
In  the  gold  flowers  there  unheeding,  - 
The  calm  of  an  open  mind ! 

Day  long,  as  I  keep  the  homely 
Round  of  my  chambers  here. 
Her  beauty  is  modest  and  comely, 
Her  presence  living  and  near. 


Till  it  seems  I  must  recover 
A  day  in  the  ilex  grove, 
Where  I  was  a  destined  lover, 
And  she  was  destined  for  love. 
30 


I  remember  the  woods  we  strayed  in 
And  the  mountain  paths  we  trod 
When  she  was  a  Doric  maiden   ' 
And  I  was  a  young  Greek  god.' 

And  I  have  the  haunting  fancy 
The  moment  my  back  is  turned 
By  some  Eastern  necromancy  ' 
Only  the  artists  have  learned. 

Two  great  grave  eyes  are  lifted 
lo  follow  me  round  the  room, 
And  a  sudden  breath  has  shifted 
A  leaf  m  the  Book  of  Doom. 


y*»  Girl  i„ 
lilt  Potter 


ON   THE   STAIRS 

FROM  glory  up  to  glory 
On  the  great  stairs  of  time 
I  track  the  ghostly  whisper 
That  bids  a  mortal  climb. 

I  pass  the  gorgeous  threshold 
Of  many  an  open  door. 
Where,  luring  and  illusive. 
The  pageant  gleams  once  more. 

Up  the  Potomac  Valley 
I  see  the  April  come  ; 
Here  it  is  May  in  Pari.s ; 
Here  is  my  Ardise  hjme; 
-.1 


1 1<< 


o«  /*#    These  are  the  Scituate  marshes ; 
Slain    ^ijjj  jj  J,  Xorman  town; 

These  are  the  dikes  of  Grand  1't6  ; 

Ah,  tell  no  more,  Renown  1 


I  pass  the  open  portals, 
Irresolute  and  {ond, — 
Desert  the  masque  of  beauty 
For  Beauty's  self  beyond. 

For  down  the  echoing  stairway 
Of  being,  I  have  heard 
The  faint  immortal  secret 
Shut  in  a  mortal  word,  — 

The  tawny  velvet  accent 
Of  Lilith.  as  she  came 
Into  the  great  blue  garden 
And  breathed  her  lover's  name. 


THE   DESERTED   INN 

I  CAME  to  a  deserted  inn. 
Standing  apart,  alone; 
A  place  where  human  joy  had  been, 
And  only  winds  made  moan. 


I  entered  by  the  spacious  hall, 
With  not  a  soul  to  see  ; 
The  echo  of  my  own  footfall 
Was  ghostly  there  to  me. 
32 


'came  upon  a  sudden  door, 
Which  gave  me  no  reply  ; 
The  more  I  questioned  it,  the  more 
A  questioner  was  I. 

I  lingered  by  the  mouldy  stair, 

And  by  the  dusty  sill  j 

And  when  my  faint  heart  said,  "  Beware  ' " 

The  silence  said,  "  Be  still ! " 

From  room  to  room  I  caught  the  stir 
Of  garments  vanishing,  — 
The  stillness  trying  to  demur, 
When  one  has  ceased  to  sing. 

Like  shadows  of  the  clouds  which  make 

I  he  loneliness  of  noon, 

The  thing  I  could  not  overtake 

Was  but  an  instant  gone. 

|T  was  summer  when  I  reached  the  inn : 
The  apples  were  in  bloom  ; 
Before  I  left,  the  snow  drove  in. 
The  frost  was  like  a  doom. 

At  last  I  came  upon  tiie  book 
Where  visitors  of  yore 
Had  vvrit  their  names,  ere  joy  forsook 
The  House  if  Rest-no-more. 

Poor  fellow-travellers,  beset 
VVith  hungers  not  of  earth ! 
Did  you,  too,  tarry  here  in  debt 
For  things  of  perished  worth  ? 
33 


7V« 

Dtterted 

Jhh 


f 


Tiu         Did  something  lure  you  like  a  strain 

D.»rl,J    Qj  „„5|^  ^j,j  j„j  y^j,^ 

Only  to  freeie  your  blood  again 
With  jeers  when  you  had  passed  ? 

Did  visions  of  a  fairer  thing 

Than  God  has  ever  made 

Fleet  through  your  doorways  in  the  spring, 

And  would  not  be  delayed  r 

Did  beauty  in  a  half-made  song, 
A  smile  of  mystery. 
Departing,  leave  you  here  to  long 
For  what  could  never  be,  — 


And  thenceforth  you  were  friends  of  peace, 
Acquainted  with  unrest. 
Whom  no  perfection  could  release 
From  the  unwoi'.dly  quest? 


JAl 


I  heard  a  sound  of  women's  tears, 
More  desolate  than  the  sea. 
Sigh  through  the  chambers  of  the  years 
Unto  eternity. 

And  then  beyond  the  fathom  of  sense 
I  knew,  as  the  dead  know, 
My  lost  ideal  had  journeyed  thence 
Unnumbered  years  ago. 


And  from  that  dwelling  of  the  night. 
With  the  gray  dusk  astir, 
I  waited  for  the  first  gold  light 
To  let  me  forth  to  Her. 
34 


THE   OPEN    DOOR 

LOVE  me,  love  me  not,  - 
What  IS  that  to  me  ? 
1  have  not  forgot 
When  we  two  were  three. 

She  who  loved  us  twnin 
Well  enough  to  die,  — 
Can  we  love  agaii 
While  her  ghost  stands  by? 

Love  me,  love  me  not,  — 
I  can  love  no  more. 
For  the  empty  cot 
And  the  open  door. 


JAPANESE    LOVE-SONG 

HOW  you  start  away! 
—  As  a  flame  starts  from  a  gust. 
Flame-heart  o'  the  dust ! 
Sudden  startle  of  dismay ! 
Swift  triumph  in  distrust ! 

Flash  and  tremble  of  escape 
Fierce  with  desire ! 
Rippled  water  shot  with  fire 
Wary  of  the  rape 
Of  the  eyes  that  sire ! 

Radiant  no-and-yes ! 
Deer-flight  and  panther-thirst ! 
Ulest  and  accurst ! 


i 


Sword-splendour  past  the  guess 
Of  Heaven's  best  and  Helf's  wo 
35 


worst ! 


j,tf<iHjit    So  you  sprang  up  from  yourself, 
ImfSmr  Q^„„^  ,0  supremacies, 

Slar-demoned  by  a  kiss  — 
Nigtit  turned  firetif, — 
Wonder  and  all  amiss  I 


'HOW   SHOULD   LOVE   KNOW?' 

HOW  should  Lm  c  know 
The  face  of  sorrow  ? 
Love  is  so  young  a  thing  I 
Koses  that  blow 
To-day,  lie  to-morrow 
Faded  and  withering. 


HA 


UNFORESEEN 

WHY  did  I  kiss  you,  sweet  ? 
Nor  you  nor  I  can  say. 
You  might  have  said  some  commonplace, 
I  might  have  turned  away. 

No  thought  was  in  our  hearts 
Of  what  we  were  to  be. 
Fate  sent  a  madness  on  our  souls 
And  swept  us  out  to  sea. 

Fate,  between  breath  and  breath, 
Has  made  the  world  anew. 
And  the  bare  skies  of  yesterday 
Are  all  aflame  with  you. 
36 


CHILD'S    SONG 

Butjuilatron  tlu  furthtst  hill 

PI  f  A  /4'""f  ""/'">'"  Ini. 
aL  '^f '  ""■•  ■1"''^  "'«  '"  y""--  carriage 
_   And  ride  me  home  !    You  see 
1  ve  been  to  find  the  fairies 
And  I  'm  tired  as  I  can  be. 

I  crossed  the  meadow  and  the  brook 
And  cljmbed  Rapalye's  hill 
But  when  I  reached  the  top  of  it 
There  was  another  still. 


HARMONICS 

TRUTH  is  not  a  creed, 
For  it  does  not  need 
Ever  an  apology. 
Truth  is  not  an  ology ; 
'T  is  not  part,  but  all. 
Priests  and  savans  shall 
Never  solve  the  mystic 
Problem.     The  artistic 
Mind  alone  of  all  can  tell 
What  is  Truth. 

"  Poet,  thou  art  wisest ; 
Dogmas  thou  despisest  — 
Science  little  prizest. 
Tell  us,  for  thou  knowest  well, 
What  is  Truth." 

Spake  the  seekers  to  an  holy 
Bard,  who  answered,  mild  and  lowly - 
inis,  all  this,  was  in  the  olden 
Days  when  Saturn's  reign  was  golden  ■ 
37 


Htrwumtci  "  Shall  I  read  the  riddle  — 
Tell  you  what  is  Truth  ? 
Truth  is  not  the  first 
Not  the  last  or  middle; 
'T  is  the  beautiful 
And  symmetric  whole, 
Embracing  best  and  worst, 
Embracing  age  and  youth. 

"  All  the  universe 
Is  one  mighty  song. 
Wherein  every  star 
Chants  out  loud  and  strong 
Each  set  note  and  word 
It  must  aye  rehearse. 
Though  the  parts  may  jar, 
The  whole  is  as  one  chord." 


ORNITHOLOGY  , 

SWEETHEART,  do    you  see    up    yonder 
through  the  leaves 
The  elm  tree  interweaves, 
How  that  cock-sparrow  chases  his  brown  mate.' 
Look,  where  she  perches  now 
Upon  the  bough 

And  turns  her  head  to  see  if  he  pursue  her. 
Half  frightened,  half  elate 
To  have  so  bold  and  beautiful  a  wooer. 
See,  he  alights  beside  her.     How  his  wings 
Quiver  with  amorous  passionings  ! 
How  voluble  their  chattering  courtship  is ! 
Soon  will  he  know 
Love's  joys  in  overflow, 
Love's  extreme  ecstasies. 
38 


ler 
te? 


Out  she  whisks 


No,  off  she  flics! 

Just  .IS  she  seemed  about  to  be  subdued 

To  his  impetuous  desire  ! 

How  angrily  he  scolds,  with  wicked  eyes 

followinK  her  Hi(,'ht,  and  turns  his  tiny  ire 

Acainst  the  innocent  tree  and  pecks  the  wood  ! 

While  she  —  ,ih,  the  coquette  !  — 

Lurks  yonder  in  tlie  cleft  where  the  great  tree 

Jircaks  into  bou^lis,  and  peeps  about  to  sec 

If  he  IS  coming  yet. 

She 's  in  for  a  game  of  lovers'  hide-and-seek, 

And  longs  to  h.ave  him  find  the  hiding-place. 

Although  she  feigns  concealment,  so  to  pinue 

His  passion  to  a  ch.ase. 

In  vain  —  he  will  not  look 

For  all  her  sweet  allurements. 

Demurely  from  her  nook, 

As  if  she  did  not  see  anil  were  not  seen, 

And  perks  herself  and  frisks 

Her  delicate  tail  .as  ,i  lady  dirts  her  I.in, 

And  now  slips  b.ack  aijain  to  her  retreat 

And  waits  for  one  hushed  moment  in  serene 

UnHuttered  expectation  that  the  plan 

Have  issue  sweet. 

What,  will  he  not  come  yet  ? 

See  how  she  glances  .at  him  unaw.arcs. 

Tosses  her  head  and  gives  herself  high  airs 

In  s'lcn   -,  pretty  pet. 

Cruel  .1  he  turns  away, 
Affecting  unconcern. 

All  those  endearing  wiles  are  wrought  in  vain. 
Alas,  unlucky  flirt !  too  late  you  learn 
That  long  delays  will  make  the  eagerest  lover 
39 


OrmilMtff 


OrnUhalcty  Aweary  of  pursuing.     Nay, 

Too  late  you  fly  half  way  to  liim  again. 

You  will  not  so  recover  „„.<,. 

The  passion  that  you  played  with.     Off  he  Hies 

And  now  is  lost  in  the  thick  shade 

Of  lilac  bushes  further  down  the  glade. 

Another  mistress  charms  his  amorous  eyes. 

Have  a  care,  sweetheart,  or  as  he  some  day 

I  too  will  fly  away. 


TO   AN    IRIS 

THOU  art  a  golden  ins 
Under  a  purple  wall, 
Whereon  the  burning  sunlight 
And  greening  shadows  fall. 

What  Summer  night's  enchantment 
Took  up  the  garden  mould. 
And  with  the  falling  star-dust 
Refined  it  to  such  gold  ? 

What  wonder  of  white  magic 
Bidding  thy  soul  aspire. 
Filled  that  luxurious  body 
With  languor  and  with  fire  ? 

Wert  thou  not  once  a  beauty 
In  Persia  or  Japan, 
For  whom,  by  toiling  seaway 
Or  dusty  caravan, 

Of  old  some  lordly  lover 
Brought  countless  treasure  home 
Of  gems  and  silk  and  attar, 
To  pleasure  thee  therefrom  ? 
40 


Pale  amber  from  the  Baltic, 
Soft  rugs  of  Indian  ply, 
Stuffs  from  tlie  looms  of  Bagdad 
Stained  with  the  Tyrlan  dye. 

Were  thy  hands  bright  with  henna, 
Thy  lashes  blacic  with  kohl, 
Thy  voice  lilce  silver  water 
Out  of  an  earthen  bowl  ? 

Or  was  thy  only  tent-cloth 
The  blue  Astartean  night. 
Thy  soul  to  beauty  given, 
Thy  body  to  delight? 

Wert  thou  not  well  desired, 
And  was  not  life  a  boon. 
When  Tanis  held  in  Sidon 
Her  Mysteries  of  the  Moon  ? 

There  in  her  groves  of  ilex 
The  nightingales  made  ring 
With  the  mad  lyric  chorus 
Of  youth  and  love  and  Spring, 

Wert  thou  not  glad  to  worship 
With  some  blond  Paphian  boy. 
Illumined  by  new  knowledge 
And  intimate  with  joy  ? 

And  did  not  the  Allmother 
Smile  in  the  hushed  dim  light. 
Hearing  thy  stifled  laughter 
Disturb  her  holy  rite? 

41 


To  oM  Iris  Ait,  well  thou  must  have  served  her 
In  wise  and  gracious  ways, 
With  more  than  vestal  fervour, 
A  loved  one  all  thy  days  ! 

And  dost  thou,  then,  revisit 
Our  borders  at  her  will, 
Child  of  the  sultry  rapture, 
Waif  of  the  Orient  still  ? 


Because  thy  love  was  fearless 
And  fond  and  strong  and  free. 
Art  thou  not  her  last  witness 
To  our  apostasy  ? 

Just  at  the  height  of  summer. 
The  joy-days  of  the  year. 
She  bids,  for  our  reproval, 
Thy  radiance  appear. 


Bl 


Oh,  Iris,  let  thy  spirit 
Enkindle  our  gross  clay. 
Brine  back  the  lost  earth-passion 
For  beauty  to  our  day  ! 

To-night,  when  down  the  marshes 
The  lilac  half-lights  fade. 
And  on  the  rosy  shore-line 
No  earthly  spell  is  laid. 


I  would  be  thy  new  lover, 
With  the  dark  life  renewed 
By  our  great  mother  Tanis 
And  thy  solicitude. 

42 


Feel  slowly  change  this  vesture  r»««  iris 

Of  mortal  flesh  and  bone, 
Transformed  by  her  soft  witch-work 
To  one  more  like  thine  own. 

Become  but  as  the  rain-wind 
(Who  am  but  dust  indeed), 
To  slake  thy  velvet  ardour 
And  soothe  thy  darling  need. 

To  dream  and  waken  with  thee 
Under  the  night's  blue  sail, 
As  the  wild  odours  freshen. 
Till  the  white  stars  grow  pale. 


BERRIS   YARE 

A   LEGEND   OF   THE   BRIER   ROSE 
Once  in  the  fairy  tale  sweet  Rose  Brier 
Climbed  la  the  bent  nf  her  heart's  desire. 
Poor  Rose  Brier ^  as  Pve  heard  tell. 
Never  came  back  with  her  folk  to  dwell. 

This  is  the  legend  of  sweet  Brier  Rose 
Out  of  a  country  that  nobody  knows. 
Dear  Brier  Rose  could  never  aspire. 
Yet  came  at  length  to  her  heart's  desire. 

SINGLE-HEART  Brier  Rose,  gipsy  desire 
Eyes  of  the  Hush-hound  and  crispy  dark  hair. 
Lyric  of  summer  dawn,  dew-drench  and  fire 
Wildmg  and  gentle  and  shy  Berris  Yare  ! 

Bide  with  me,  Brier  Rose,  here  for  an  hour. 
See  the  red  sun,  like  a  great  royal  rose, 
Flung  down   the  gray  for  the   winter's    kine 
flower,  " 

While  Mardtn  sleeps  in  his  mantle  of  snows 
43 


Birrii  Van  Far-wandered  Brier  Rose,  how  came  we  here, 
Alien,  ease-loving,  alone  in  this  North  ? 
White  winter,  laid  at  the  heart  of  the  year, 
Heeds  us  not,  needs  us  not,  leads  us  not  forth. 

Long  ago.  Brier  Rose,  loved  we  not  thus? 
Was  It  when  Alaric  marched  against  Rome  ? 
Others  might  win  the  world;  leave  love  for  us! 
Dost  thou  remember  the  Visigoth  home  ? 

Think  again,  Summer-heart.     Canst  not  recall 
When  thou  wert  Brier  Rose  gladsome  and  fair? 
How  I  remember  thee,  shapely  and  tall,  — 
Far  away,  long  ago  thee,  Berris  Yare  ! 

Sword-play  for  Brier  Rose,  war  song  and  march  ; 
Throstle  for  joy  bade  the  waking  world  sing ; 
Morning  waved  banners  out  bold  from  the  larch; 
When  we  went  down  on  the  legions  in  spring. 

Bracelets  for  Brier  Rose,  wrought  Roman  gold; 
Tribute  and  trophy  poured  plenty  as  sand  j 
Frost  on  the  flower-garth,  rime  on  the  wold ; 
When  we  came  triumphing  back  through  the 
land. 

How  thy  cheek,  Brier  Rose,  signalled  aflame ; 
How  the  song  rang  of  the  foemen  downbome ; 
How  the  brown  eyes  kindled  up  as  we  came 
Through  the  bowed  ranks  of  the  gleaming  red 
corn! 

Then  the  long  days  when  the  harvest  was  done ; 
Hand  in  hand,  hill  and  dale,  thou  and  I  there, 
Dreaming  of  far-off  new  isles  of  the  sun,  — 
Never  a  dream  of  this  day,  Berris  Yare  ! 
44 


FaiiT-tale,  home-royal  red  o£  the  rose,  Bm-u  r^n 

Wilding  and  well-a-day  sweet  of  the  brier ! 
Here  in  the  gray  world  engirdled  with  snows, 
Watch  the  slow  sun  set  the  hilltops  afire  ! 

What  if,  my  Brier  Rose,  love  were  just  this: 
One  gracious  core  of  the  whirled  starry  dust. 
Round  which  the  swinging  motes,  never  amiss 
Traverse  the  infinite  dark  as  they  must. 

All  the  earth  else  a  mere  seed-plot  of  clay, 
Friii  Jess  and  flowerless,  mixed  garden  mould. 
Awaiting  the  gardener,  inert,  to  obey 
When    the    first    sunbeam    bids,    "Blossoms, 
unfold ! " 


|i 


Then  the  whole  host  of  them,  gold  daffodils ; 
Poppies  so  well  of  red  dreamland  aware  ; 
Michaelmas  daisies  smoke  blue  on  the  hills  ; 
Noue  like  my  Brier  Rose,  my  Berris  Yare. 

Acres  of  apple-bloom,  maids  at  the  door  ; 
Wind-hands  of  summer  with   heart-strings   to 

pull ; 
Fruit  to  the  harvesting,  men  to  the  war ; 
Come  winter  speedily,  love's  year  is  full. 

Cherry-mouth  Brier  Rose,  washed  in  the  dew. 

Kiss  me  again  before  daylight  be  done, 

Once  for  the  old  love  and  twice  for  the  new. 
Thrice  for  the  dearest  love  under  the  sun ! 
45 


BtrrU  Vart  Gold  heart  of  sundowns  and  summers  forgot  I 
Treasure  of  solitude,  simple  and  wild  I 
God  in  our  poem  missed  rhyme  by  a  jot ; 
Life  never  yet  with  poor  love  reconciled. 


Wert  thou  not  Brier  Rose  once  on  a  time  ?. 
Attar  of  memory,  chivalry's  dare ! 
Love  's  the  lost  echo  of  flute-notes  at  prime, 
Wondrous,  far  wandering.     Hark,  Berris  Yare  I 


Only  the  leaves  of  the  oaks  brown  and  sere, 
Garrulous  wiseacre,  doting  old  leaves. 
Go  whisper  others  your  cumber-world  fear,  — 
Kill-joy  foreboding  that  croaks  and  deceives! 


Heed  them  not,  Brier  Rose.     Hearken  again ! 
Nothing  ?     No  breath  of  the  music  to  be  ? 
Ah  !  but  I  hear  the  low  footfall  of  rain,  — 
April's  clan  Joy  making  in  from  the  sea. 


April.     Think,   Brier  Rose!   liow    the   earth's 

heart, 
Brook  rapture,  bird  rapture,  riot  of  rills. 
Stirs  with  old  dreams  that  rend  slumber  apart ! 
Then  the  long  twilight  dim-blue  on  the  hills. 


Hills  that  will  talk  tome  when  thou  art  gone, — 
That  old  solicitude,  calming  despair. 
Sweet  as  the  sundown,  austere  as  the  dawn,  — 
"  Love  that  lost  Brier  Rose,  found  Berris  Yare." 
46 


While  the  dusk  hears  the  hill-rivers  give  tongue, 
In  the  first  swamp-robin  I  shall  perceive 
One  golden  strain  that,  when  being  was  young. 

Kin  to  the  world-cry  and  kith  to  the  stars, 
Fierced  human  sorrows  such  ages  aso. 
Leisurely  fluting  in  gold,  broken  bars 
Comes  the  rehearsal,  serenely  and  slow, 

Prelude  re-prelude  ;  and  then  the  full  throat,. 

Mellowly,  mellowly stops  mid-stream 

Wearily,  wearily. What  may  denote 

buch  incompleteness  ?  Can  love  be  the  theme .' 

?™'her  of  Brier  Rose,  flute-master  mine 
Vl„  "  "lu  .'['"  ''^^rt-ache  out  cry  to  him  there), 
Thou  with  the  secret  in  that  flute  of  thine 
Where  is  my  dream-fellow,  lost  Berris  Yare? 


MODERN   ECLOGUE 

F  you  were  ferryman  at  Charon's  ford. 
And  I  came  down  the  bank  and  called  to  you. 
Waved  you  my  hand  and  asked  to  come  aboard 
And  threw  you  kisses  there,  what  would  you  do  ? 

Would  there  be  such  a  crowd  of  other  girls, 
Pleading  and  pale  and  lonely  as  the  sea, 
You^d  growl  in  your  old  beard,  and  shake  your 

And  say  there  was  no  room  for  little  me ' 
47 


M  Medtm 

EcttgtM 


Would  you  remember  each  of  them  in  turn  ? 
Put  all  your  faded  fancies  in  the  bow, 
And  all  the  rest  before  you  in  the  stem, 
And  row  them  out  with  panic  on  your  brow  ? 


If  I  came  down  and  offered  you  my  fare 
And  more  beside,  could  you  refuse  me  there? 


If  I  were  ferryman  in  Charon's  place. 
And  ran  that  crazy  scow  with  perilous  skill, 
I  should  be  so  worn  out  with  keeping  trace 
Of  gibbering  ghosts  and  bidding  them  sit  still. 

If  you  should  come  with  daisies  in  your  hands. 
Strewing  their  petals  on  the  sombre  stream,  — 
"  He  will  come,"  and  "  He  won't  come,"  down 

the  lands 
Of  pallid  reverie  and  ghostly  dream,  — 

I  would  let  every  clamouring  shape  stand  there. 
And  give  its  s'~adowy  lungs  free  vent  in  vain. 
While  you  with  earthly  roses  in  your  hair, 
And  I  grown  young  at  sight  of  you  again. 

Went  down  the  stream  once  more  at  half-past 

seven 
To  find  some  brand-new  continent  of  heaven. 


SE 


48 


FROM   THE   CLIFK 

Thl  hfi^i'"'  l™'""«  '"  immortal  mirth, 
Ihe  blue  sky  whitening  as  it  nears  the  earth 
Afar  where  all  the  summits  are  aglow:  ' 

I  •.    V?  '?I'8,'">'  "'"'i  "Pon  me  blow 

Of  ,^,?K°1 '  .''"*"•  ^'"^H  '"  ""y  soul  a  birth 
Of  turbulent  music  struggling  to  break  cirth 
I  pass  with  Dante  througl,  eternal  woe  ^ 
Quiver  with  Sappho's  passion  at  my  heart 
See  Pindar's  chariots  Sashing  past  the  eoal 
Triumph  o'er  splendours  of  unutterable^light 
And  know  supremely  this,  O  God,  -  Thou  art 
Feeling  m  all  this  tumult  of  my  soul  ' 

Grand  kinship  with  the  glory  of  Thv  might. 


SEA  SONNETS 

Owl  '"'"'  .','?^  "de-afar,  afar,  afar, 

The  darkness  and  the  tempest  and  the  sea ' 
How  long  we  waited  wherJthe  tall  ships  are 
Disconsolate  and  safe  within  the  bar"  "^         ' 
Ocean  forever  calling  us,  but  we  —    ' 
U>d  how  we  stifled  there,  nor  dared  be  free 
Witli^a  sharp  knife  and  night  and  the  wiW 

mL'^""-"/!."'^  ^^"^^^  ™''  adrift,  away  _ 
Mad  with  escape,  what  care  we  to  wLt  doom 

49 


Sta  Smmit  The  bitter  night  may  bear  us !    Lost,  alone, 
In  a  vague  world  of  roaring  surge  astray, 
Out  with  the  tide  and  into  the  unknown, 
Compassed  about  with  rapture  and  the  gloom  I 


We  two,  waifs,  wide-eyed  and  without  fear. 
With  the  dark  swirl  of  life  about  our  prow. 
The  hollow,  heedless  swash  of  year  on  year 
That  bears  us  on  and  recks  not  where  nor  how ! 
Our  skiff  is  but  a  feather  on  the  foam, 
No  mighty  galleon  strong  to  meet  the  storm — 
An  open  Doat  —  God's  gift  to  us  for  home. 
And  but  each  other's  arms  to  keep  us  warm  ! 
What  port  for  us  to  make  ?     Our  only  star 
To  stfcer  by  is  the  star  of  missing  sails. 
Our  only  haven  where  the  kelpies  are  — 
Yet,  you  great  merchantmen  with  freighted 

bales. 
Rebel  and  lost  and  aimless  as  we  go. 
We  keep  a  joy  your  pride  can  never  know. 


Moon  of  my  midlight !     Moon  of  I' j  dark  sea, 
Where  like  a  petreFs  ghost  my  sloop  is  driven ! 
Behold,  about  me  and  under  and  over  me. 
The  darkness  and  the  waters  and  the  heaven  — 
Huge,  shapeless  monsters  as  of  worlds  in  birth, 
Dragons  of  Fate,  that  hold  me  not  in  scope  — 
Bar  up  my  way  with  fierce,  indifferent  mirtli, 
And  fall  in  giant  frolic  on  my  hope. 
5° 


?h!  H™,i  Tu   ""''  VI  "'"''"  ">«  '"  'he  w»ve,  J«  **««. 
n-f  .if  f*"*  ''?.r°''  °'  '*■*  sightless  deep  - 
Only  thv  love,  like  moonlight,  pours  to  save 
My  soul  from  the  despairs  that  lunge  and  leap. 

TheTrlhii  "i^.K'  ^'"'u"*.*'  '■'"  ""d  death  asiail, 
1  he  tremble  of  thy  light  is  on  my  sail. 


AT  A   SUMMER    RESORT 

Irhl^l^n"  '?  ^y  "^7'  y°V'  '°°''.  youf  walk, 

XThe  rustle  of  vour  draperies  on  the  stair, 

Our  Leyden-iar-fuls  of  electric  talk, 

The  sense  of  you  about  me  everywhere 

The  people  bore  me  in  the  boarding-house, 

I  hardly  can  accord  themj-M  or  noy 

The  beauty  of  the  valleys  can  arouse 

No  such  elation  as  a  year  ago 

But  when  the  last  dull  guest  has  gon«  to  bed 

And  only  crickets  keep  me  company. 

In  the  mesmeric  night  when  truth  is  said  — 

When  you,  dear  loveliness  with  drooping  eye 

Demurely  enter  through  the  unreal  wallf 

And  I  forget  you  went  away  at  all. 


NEW  YORK 

TuM  ''""  ","*  °^  "■*  "^"^  «''»'  "e  outspread 
slime  '  °"  ^"^  ""      '  "■*  '"^  *"''  ^"'"^^  »"<' 
^diml''*'^^^^  and  ships    with   flags   of  every 
The  domes  and  steeples  rising  overhead ' 
S' 


It  ii  not  these.     Rather  it  is  the  tread 

Of  the  million  heavy  feet  that  keep  >a(l  time 

To    heavy    though'tx,   the  want    that  mothersi 

crime, 
The  weary  toiling  for  a  bitter  bread, 
The  perishing  of  poets  for  renown. 
The   shriek    of    shame    from    the    concealing 

waves. 
Ah,  me  I  how  many  heart-twats  day  by  day 
Go  to  mak.  »p  the  life  of  the  vast  town  ! 
O  myri.u'.  'U:'\d  in  unremembered  graves ! 
O  torrent  of  the  living  down  Broadway  ! 


GROTESQUE 

OUR  Gothic  minds  have  gargoyle  fancies. 
Odd, 
That  there  will  come  a  day  when  you  and  I 
Shall  not  be  you  and  I,  that  we  shall  lie. 
We  two,  in  the  damp  eartli-mould,  above  each 

clod 
A  drunken  headstone  in  the  neglected  soil. 
Thereon  the  phrase,  Hicjacet,  worn  awry. 
And  then  our  virtues,  bah  !  — and  pietv  — 
Perhaps  some  cheeky  reference  to  God  ! 
And  '.laply  after  many  a  century 
Some  spectacled  old  man  shall  drive  the  birds 
A  moment  from  their  song  in  the  lonely  spot 
And  make  a  copy  of  the  quaint  old  words  — 
They  will  then  be  quaint  and  old  —  and  all  for 

what? 
To  fill  a  gap  in  a  genealogy. 


WHEN   THE   PRIEST   LEFT 

WHAT  did  he  say? 
To  seek  love  otherwhere 
Wor  bind  the  soul  to  clay  ? 
It  may  be  so  —  I  cannot  tell  — 
But  1  know  that  life  is  !..!  ■, 
AnH  love's  bold  clarion  in  the  air 
Outdins  his  little  vesper-bell, 

^"harnfs"?'' '     '^''"    '   '°"'^''  ^"^  "■'"'  '""'  "y 

Can  I  breathe  In  his  hair  and  brush  his  cheek 

He  IS  too  far  to  seek. 

If  nowhere  else  be  love,  who  understands 

What  thing  it  is  ? 

This  love  is  but  a  name  that  wise  men  speak 

tiod  hath  no  lips  to  kiss. 

Let  God  be;  surely,  if  he  will. 

At  the  end  of  days, 

He  can  win  love  as  well  as  praise. 

Why  must  we  spill 

The  human  love  out  at  his  feet  ? 

Let  be  this  talk  of  good  and  ill  I 

"^sw^et./'"'   ^   ^'^'  '""^  """"  ""'  '=''■  ="«» 


Open  the  window ;  let  the  air 

Blow  in  on  us. 

It  is  enough  to  *^nd  you  fair, 

To  touch  with  fingers  timorous 

Your  sunlit  hair,  — 

To  turn  my  body  to  a  prayer, 

And  kiss  you  —  thus. 

53 


THE  GIFT  OF  ART    A  fragment 

I  DREAMED  that  a  child  was  born  ;  and  at 
his  birth 
The  Angel  of  the  Word  stood  by  the  hearth 
And  spake  to  her  that  bare  him  :  "  Look  without ! 
Behold  the  beauty  of  the  Day,  the  shout 
Of  colour  to  glad  colour,  rocks  and  trees 
And  sun  and  sea  and  wind  and  skv  !    All  these 
Are  God's  expression,  art-work  of  his  hand, 
Which  men  must  love  ere  they  may  understand, 
By  which  alone  he  speaks  till  they  have  grace 
To  hear  his  voice  and  look  upon  nis  face. 
For  first  and  last  of  all  things  in  the  heart 
Of  God  as  man  the  glory  is  of  art. 
What  gift  could  God  bestow  or  man  beseech, 
Save  spirit  unto  spirit  uttered  speech  ? 
Wisdom  were  not,  for  God  himself  could  find 
No  way  to  reach  the  unresponsive  mind. 
Sweet  Love  were  dead,  and  all  the  crowded  skies 
A  loneliness  and  not  a  Paradise. 
Teach  the  child  language,  mother.  ..." 


TO   JAMES   WHITCOMB   RILEY 

THOUGH  aiblins  some  deserve  as  highly 
O'  that  braw  winsome  lass  an'  wily 
Wha  gi'es  a  kiss  to  bardies  slyly 
An'  sets  'em  liltin', 
I  ken  there 's  nane  can  equal  Riley 
To  'scape  her  jiltin'. 
How  comes  it,  man,  ye  ken  sae  well 
The  Muse's  tricks?     Hae  ye  a  spell 
54 


RC 


To  keep  her  sae  a'  to  yoursel', 
An  fu'  in  Fame's  e'e? 
Fame  ?  —  let  that  hizzie  gae  to  hell ! 
Here  s  to  you,  Jamesie  ! 

TO   RUDYARD    KIPLING 

W"mid  "^^"^  ''^"^  ''''"  °*  praising?    Could 
Some  lonely  poet  no  one  praises  yet, 
Him  rather  would  I  choose,  that  lie  might  know 
A  fellow-craftsman  knew  him,  marked  him,  lovecT 
need"  "        "'*'°'^  "'"'''  P™^^*  ^°^-    Wh^i 
Have  you  of  any  speech  I  have  to  give  ? 
Yet  for  the  craft's  sake  I  must  givlyou  praise- 
And  for  the  craft's  sake  you  wilf  parjon  me       ' 
But  I  would  ratii  r  meet  you  face  to  face 
And  talk  of  other  and  indifferent  things 
And  say  rio  word  of  all  that  !  ,vould  sly', 
P^!ff  *"'•. "-anksgiving  for  vour  splenlid  song. 
Blood-  P'"*"  °^   '^^   "'"P'^'=^  °f  'h^^ 

But  leave  you,  silent,  as  we  English  do- 
dersCd,"'"        """"w-and  you   would   un- 


To  James 
WkUcomt 
Riliy 


A: 


ROMANY   SIGNS 

0«  the  publication  cfPalrins,"  by  Louis,  Imogen 

Ic  r     I.      ij  Gttiney, 

^  I  should  wander  out  some  afternoon 
About  the  end  of  May  or  early  June, 
And  at  a  crossroads  in  the  hills  discover 
A  spray  of  apple  or  a  sprig  of  clover, 
55 


Romany    Set  for  a  sign  to  tell  who  went  that  way, 
Sii"'        Which  road  he  took  and  how  he  fared  that  day, 
"  Ho,  ho,"  I  'd  whistle,  "  here 's  a  gipsy  token, 
As  plain  as  if  the  very  word  were  spoken." 

Then  down  I  turn,  hot  foot,  and  off  I  trudge 
Hard    on    his    trail,    while    sceptics    mutter, 

"Fudge!" 
They  know  the  way,  these  travel-wise  Egyptians, 
And  I  —  enough  to  follow  their  inscriptions. 

So,  bless  you !  in  a  mile  or  two  at  most, 
I  've  overtaken,  almost  passed,  my  host 
Camped  in  the  finest  grove  in  all  the  county 
And  bidding  me  to  supper  on  his  bounty. 

There 's  nothing  like  a  bit  of  open  sky 

To  give  a  touch  of  poetry  to  pie ; 

And  here 's  a  poem  (call  it  Sphinx  in  Myrtle) 

Would  make  an  alderman  forget  his  turtle. 

Now,  there 's  a  Romany  in  Aubumdale, 
Wild  as  a  faun  and  sound  as  cakes  and  ale. 
One  of  the  tribe  of  Stevenson  and  Borrow, 
Who  live  to-day  and  let  alone  to-morrow. 

(God  keeps  a  few  still  living  in  the  sun,— 
The  man  who  wrote  The  Seven  Seas,  for  one. 
And  Island  Stoddard,  —  just  to  prove  the  folly 
Of  smug  repose  and  pious  melancholy.) 

So  when  1  see  her  signal  in  the  hedge, 
(I  mean  her  new  book  on  the  counter's  edge,) 
"  Ho,  ho,"  say  I,  "  that  Guiney  's  broken  loose 
again,  .    „ 

Cut  a  new  quill  and  put  her  craft  to  use  again. 
56 


Enough  for  me !  I  'm  off.     And,  fellows  all, 
Who  could  resist  the  Auburndalean  call 
To  go  a-foraging  ?   That 's  what  the  spring 's  for, 
What  bards  have  wits  and  bumblebees  have 
wings  for. 

I  'II  warrant  here 's  a  road  to  Arcady 
With  goodly  cheer  and  merry  company, 
Skirting  the  pleasant  foot-hills  of  Philosophy, 
Far  from  the  quaggy  marshes  of  Theosophy. 

O  for  the  trail,  wherever  it  may  lead, 
"•■om  small  credulity  to  larger  creed, 
^iU  we  behold  this  world  without  detraction 
As  God  did  seven  times  with  satisfaction ! 


Rontixtiy 


THE   MAN   WITH   THE   TORTOISE 

STO  W.  M.   F. 
UCH  curious  things  the  mind  bids  stay. 
Of  the  thousand  and  one  that  pass  it  by ' 
Thr  morning  we  walked  through  Paris  in  May, 
if  you  remember  as  well  as  I, 

There  happened— a  nothing  — an  incident- 
One  of  those  trifles  that  flit  half  seen, 
Save  where  the  spirit  sits  intent. 
Furtive  and  shy  at  her  window  screen. 

The  servants'  gossip  of  eye  and  ear 
May  surge  and  hum  at  her  door  in  spring 
Of  the  pageant  of  beauty  drawing  near, 
But  she  — she  is  watching  a  stranger  thing! 
57 


^M^tt'  ^''*  "Z"*^  rabble  of  fact  and  form 
^r'oruist    *'*y  gfeara  till  the  senses  dance  with  glee ; 

But  calm,  unmoved  as  the  very  norm 

And  centre  of  being,  muses  she ; 

Indifferent  to  loveliness,  line  or  hue, 
Till  a  chance  bird-wing  or  a  slant  sun-ray 
May  fall  as  prompt  as  an  actor's  cue, 
And  there  is  her  part.     So  it  was  that  day. 

We  had  turned  from  your  door  in  the  rue  Vignon, 
The  third  on  the  left  from  the  Madelaine.  .  .  . 
Forget  it.'    There  's  no  forgetting  when  one 
Is  come  at  length  to  his  Castle  in  Spain. 

For  yt  ii  were  the  friend  I  had  loved  of  old, 
And  pictured  so  often  in  Paris  here. 
And  promised  myself  some  day  to  hold 
Unaltered  and  safe  and  sound,  no  fear. 

For  our  mistress  Nature  is  great  and  wise, 
And  the  love  of  her  is  eternity ; 
But  there  comes  a  day  when  a  man  must  rise 
And  go  where  the  heart  in  him  longs  to  be. 

So  the  sea  was  crossed,  and  the  hour  was  come : 
It  was  hand  on  shoulder  with  us  once  more. 
There  was  speech  enough  though  the  lips  were 

dumb. 
When  I  stood  at  last  at  your  modest  door. 

Your  breakfast  of  capon  and  Burgundy, 
Our  talk  of  Harvard  and  Norton's  fame. 
And  your  friend  the  Druse,  with  cigars  laid  by  — 
Your  gift  from  the  Baroness  What  's-her-name. 
S8 


Then  into  the  street  of  the  Capucines 
In  the  blaze  of  the  Paris  sun  we  stalled- 
Once  more  at  touch  of  your  bhthe  light  mien 
I  knew  how  a  springflower  breaks  the  moild. 

Throu|h  the  gay  May  weather  when  life  was 

Idfv  we  sauntered  from  block  to  block, 
1  111  round  a  corner  appeared,  and  stood, 
A  fellow  in  workman's  cap  and  smock, 

Basket  on  arm  and  whistling  low 
To  somethmg  held  in  the  rough  right  hand 
A  tortoise  I     Yes,  and  the  crelturrso 
Grown  tame  at  the  music's  soft  commknd. 

Emboldened  to  peep  from  the  safe  snug  shell 
_Iad  pushed  up  I'u  head  to  the  whistler'!  face 
The  least  of  wild  things  under  the  spel  '' 
Of  the  last  and  humblest  of  Orpheus'  race. 

A  fragment  from  some  Greek  Idvllist 
The  plam  good  look  of  the  bolder  ext 
Preserving  for  us  the  colour  and  gist 
Of  ,1  simple  age  and  a  life  un  vexed. 

Did  the  beast  recall  how  the  syrinx  blew 
When  his  father  Pan  first  notcied  a  reed  ? 
Was  It  some  familiar  note  he  knew 
In  the  workman's  whistle  that  made  him  heed .' 

Ofi'i'y*  "u"*^  remembrance  dim  and  large 
Of  the  drench  and  glamour,  the  mist  and  glefm 
Of  a  mormng  once  by  the  shining  marie       ' 
And  murmurous  run  of  a  Dorian  stream  ? 
59 


ThtHfan 
wilk  Ik* 
TortoUt 


I  5 


^kti*   ^"^  ***  ''  °"'y  "'^  feedy  plash 
7V»<o«»     Of  *  Norman  river,  sunny  and  small, 

Where  a  sound  of  wind  in  the  scarlet  ash, 
Blown  high,  blown  low,  once  held  him  thrall  ? 

Was  there  nought  but  the  sweet  luxurious  thrill 
Of  the  senses,  strung  to  rhythm  and  time  ? 
No  shadow  of  soul,  to  remember  and  fill 
The  shell  that  day  with  a  joy  sublime  ? 

So  still,  as  for  very  life  he  feared 
To  lose  one  note  of  the  wild  sweet  strain. 
Ah,  mortal,  blow  till  thy  breath  has  cleared 
Ages  of  dust  from  a  haunted  brain ! 

And  often  I  think,  as  the  days  go  by, 
Of  our  whistling  man  and  the  small  mute  friend 
He  had  charmed.     And  a  scrap  of  leeendry 
Has  always  given  the  thought  a  trend. 

An  Indian  myth  (you  will  pardon  its  worth  !) 
Says  a  tortoise,  firm  in  his  arching  shell. 
Upbears  the  creature  that  bears  the  earth ; 
But  what  holds  the  tortoise  none  can  tell. 


The  tortoise,  I  venture,  may  symbolise 
The  husk  of  being,  the  outward  world. 
The  substance  of  beauty,  each  form  and  guise 
Where  the  lurking    mind   is  ensheathed,   en- 
curled. 

And  suppose  at  the  lip  of  the  shell  there  stood 
A  mortal  bent  on  the  strange  and  new. 
Trying  each  cadence  wild  and  rude, 
Till  the  magic  melody  he  blew  I 
60 


What  glimpse  to  that  cunning  dweller  in  clav 
X  ""'  """.f  <*  "'"<"'"=  Earth  Xrd  ^ 

Emerged  for  once  to  the  perfect  chord ' 


r»t  M.,H 

v/itA  tk* 
Torteiu 


THE   SCEPTICS 

JT  was  the  little  leaves  beside  the  road. 

Said  Grass,  "What  is  that  sound 

So  dismally  profound. 

That  detonates  and  desolates  the  air?" 

"That  IS  St.  Peter's  bell," 

Said  rain-wise  Pimpernel  • 

"He  is  music  to  the  godly 

Though  to  us  he  sounds  so  oddly. 

And  he  terrifies  the  faithful  unto  prayer." 

Then  something  very  like  a  groan 
Escaped  the  naughty  little  leaves. 

Said  Grass,  "  And  whither  track 

These  creatures  all  in  black 

So  woebegone  and  penitent  and  meek.'" 

>^-aL  '■^."'.'"•'als  bound  for  church  " 

•Said  the  little  Silver  Birch  • 

';T]>ey  hope  to  get  to  heaven 

And  have  their  sins  forgiven, 

If  they  talk  to  God  about  it  ince  a  week." 

And  something  very  like  a  smile 
Kan  through  the  naughty  little  leaves. 
6i 


r», sa^la Said  Grass,  "What  is  that  noise 
That  startles  and  destroys 
Our    blessed    summer    brooding  when  we  're 

tired?" 
"  That 's  folk  a-praisin^  God," 
Said  the  tough  old  cynic  Clod ; 
"  They  do  it  every  Sunday, 
The);  11  be  all  right  on  Monday ; 
It 's  just  a  little  habit  they  've  acquired." 

And  laughter  spread  among  the  little  leaves. 


THANKSGIVING 

I  THANK  thee.  Earth,  for  water  good, 
The  sea's  great  bath  of  buoyant  green 
Or  the  cold  mountain  torrent's  flood, 
That  I  may  keep  this  body  clean. 

I  thank  thee  more  for  goodly  wine, 
That  wise  as  Omar  I  may  be. 
Or  Horace  when  he  went  to  dine 
With  Lydia  or  with  Lalage. 


STACCATO   TO   O   LE   LUPE 

OLE  LUPE,  Gelett   Burgess,  this   is  very 
sad  to  find : 
In  Tfiii  Bookman  for  September,  in  a  manner 

most  unkind. 
There  appears  a  half-page  picture,  makes  me 
think  I  've  lost  my  mind. 
62 


As  "  A  Novel  Exhibii'ion  of  Examples  of  Decay." 

"■  w?alU?orf "  "^  ""  »"""  "'•  ""^  Verlaine 
''thVsco^i^'""''"'-""-""''  betters  by 
'^ieentfori"^"°"''''='^-"  'believe  I've 

"^L'eTwLr/'a"  '"  '*«"'-•  -"-  ™« 
"S:  blickTamb  «"^  """•  """«"  '°  «-^dsley 
'"DamnT""""''^'''"'-' ""'*"="  I  can  say  is. 

tt  publXl,''"' «-  P-'™«-  -d  to  make 
'"ansUeS  r5.  L'^.?"^"^-*.  -d  you 

^rerd-t&t^f'tn-^^"  '"^^^"-  ""-  '"^y 

't^feo"iV«f/«-''---»--''> 
«5 


ASiatci,  "There  is  always  sale  for  something,  and  de- 
o  U  L»tt       mand  for  what  is  new. 

These  young  men  who  are  so'restless,  and  have 

nothine  else  to  do, 
Like  to  think  there  is  'a  movement,'  just  to  keep 
themselves  in  view. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  Decadence  but  the  magic 

of  a  name. 
People  Ulk  and  papers  drivel,  scent  a  vice,  and 

hmt  a  shame ; 
And  all  that  is  good  for  business,  helps  to  boom 

my  little  game." 

But  when  I  sit  down  to  reason,  think  to  stand 

upon  my  nerve, 
Meditate  on  portly  leisure   with   a  balance   in 

reserve. 
In  he  comes  with  his  "  Decadence  ! "  like  a  fly 

in  my  preserve. 


I   can  see  myself,  O   Burgess,  half  a  century 

from  now. 
Laid  to  rest  among  the  ghostly,  like  a  broken 

toy  somehow. 
All  my  lovely  songs  and  ballads  vanished  with 

your  "  Purple  Cow." 


But  I  will  return  some  morning,  though  I  know 

it  will  be  hard, 
To  Comhill  among  the  bookstalls,  and  surprise 

some  minor  bard. 
Turning  over  their  old  rubbish  for  the  treasures 

we  discard. 


'  ?iJ  u'Tl'i?. ""'  "  ^''«'^.  -cpin«  When  Hi,.  .«„.. 

^,^r™lu  itt^no't^'  --  «'-"■•  Plume 
feert^'''*''"'P"''licwi.h  his  puny 

poop  sublime*         *"  ''°"''  '*'"'  "•«  "incom- 

Bo«on'-h??e  "■''^''  '"  ^'"^°.  -"  I  lived  in 

"  Never  heard  of  us?    Cr^A  i. 

O^^ver  have  been  told  *"''*"^'  "^3"  Jou 

^f-^f  rh''^\\%XV°  P"^'"".  and  .he  ««;^ 

anSof  .°"u^r  ^^'""-^  "    '  fee,  damp 
65 


SPRING   FEELING 

ITH I N  K  it  must  be  tpring.     I  feel 
All  broken  up  and  thawed. 
I  'm  >lck  of  everybody '»  "  wheel ; " 
I  'm  sick  of  being  jawed. 

I  am  too  winter-killed  to  live, 
Cold-aour  through  and  through. 

0  Heavenly  Barber,  come  and  give 
My  soul  a  dry  shampoo  I 

1  'm  (ick  of  all  these  nincompoops, 
Who  weep  through  yards  of  verse, 
And  all  these  sonneteerine  dupes 
Who  whine  and  froth  ana  curse, 

I  'm  sick  of  seeing  my  own  name 
Tagged  to  some  paltry  line. 
While  this  old  corpus  without  shame 
Sits  df>wn  to  meat  and  wine. 

I  'm  sick  of  all  these  Yellow  Books, 
And  all  these  Boclley  Heads; 
I  'm  sick  of  all  these  freaks  and  spooks 
And  frights  in  double  leads. 

When  good  Napoleon's  publisher 
Was  dangled  from  a  limb. 
He  should  have  had  an  editor 
On  either  side  of  him. 


I  'm  sick  of  all  this  taking  on 
Under  a  foreign  name ; 
For  when  you  call  it  decadent. 
It 's  rotten  just  the  same. 
66 


I'm  lick  of  all  thli  puling  trash 
And  namby-pamby  rot,  — 
A  Pegaius^ou  have  to  thraih 
ro  make  him  even  trot  1 

All  Aire-encI  Art !     I  would  not  eive. 
for  ail  their  plotless  plays  *     ' 

n      '"°""5!,'''aK«affian  adjective 
Or  one  Miltonic  phrase. 

I  'm  sick  of  all  this  poppycock 
In  bilious  green  and  blue ; 
I  m  tired  to  death  of  taking  stock 
Of  everything  that's  "New." 

New  Art,  New  Movements,  and  New  School- 
All  maimed  and  blind  and  halt ! 
And  all  the  fads  of  the  New  Fool>, 
Who  cannot  earn  their  salt. 

I 'm  sick  of  the  New  Woman,  too. 
Oood  Lord,  she 's  worst  of  all. 

AnrAtteo!?'^"P°'"'°'-'^' 

fn/idTo'ldTn-rtU  "'""'"""* 
To  give  the  tree  another  shake. 
And  see  another  fall. 

I  'm  very  much  of  Byron's  mind: 
1  like  sufficiency ; 
But  just  the  common  garden  kind 
H  good  enough  for  me. 
67 


FttUng 


A  striHg  I  want  to  find  a  warm  beech  wood, 
Fcthug     And  lie  down,  and  keep  still ; 

And  swear  a  little ;  and  feel  good ; 

Then  loaf  on  up  the  hill, 

And  let  the  Spring  house-clean  my  brain, 
Where  all  this  stuf{  is  crammed ; 
And  let  my  heart  grow  sweet  again ; 
And  let  the  Age  be  damned. 


HER  VALENTINE 

WHAT,  send  her  a  valentine ?    Never ! 
I  see  you  don't  know  who  "  she  "  is. 
I  should  ruin  my  chances  forever ; 
My  hopes  would  collapse  with  a  fizz. 

I  can't  see  why  she  scents  such  disaster 
When  I  take  heart  to  venture  a  word  ; 
I  've  no  dream  of  becoming  her  master, 
I  've  no  notion  of  being  her  lord. 

All  I  want  is  to  just  be  her  lover ! 
She  's  the  most  up-to-date  of  her  sex. 
And  there  's  such  a  multitude  of  her. 
No  wonder  they  call  her  complex. 

She  's  a  bachelor,  even  when  married, 
She  's  a  vagabond,  eve.i  when  housed ; 
And  if  ever  her  citadel 's  carried 
Her  suspicions  must  not  be  aroused. 
68 


A^d  '^"^"^•""P'^i^'^o  and  human,  „„ 

R,?f  ,•?  1  b  ""l*-"*'  r  "  goddesses  can ;  ^2«„« 

?hln  /*i  •.."'''*'."'7  =»"  'he  New  Woman 
Then /Vlike  to  be  the  New  Man.  ' 

When  she  scorns,  in  the  L-road,  mv  oroffer 

Tolet  herri/°  """'''  '  ^"'"1  °^^' 
i  o  let  her  nde  up  on  my  lap. 

Let  her  undo  the  steys  of  the  ages. 

That  fooled  her  to  think  they  were  strong  .f 

-d^-t^-a^fst^i^"^ 

1  gone. 


Th.,>"t  *T  <"="sion  is  ampl 
That's  why  I  so  often  take  on 

i'"  f  ^'ad  she  can  win  her  own  dollars 
And  know  all  the  freedom  it  briLs 
I   ove  her  m  shirt-waists  and  collfrs 
1  love  her  m  dress-reform  things.      ' 
69 


Htr    .     I  love  her  in  bicycle  skirtlings  — 
ynUntuu  Especially  when  there 's  a  breeze  — 
I  love  her  in  crinklings  and  quirklings 
Aad  anything  else  that  you  please. 

I  dote  on  her  even  in  bloomers  — 
If  Parisian  enough  in  their  style  — 
In  fact,  she  may  choose  her  costumers, 
Wherever  her  fancy  beguile. 

She  may  box,  she  may  shoot,  she  may  wrestle, 
She  may  argue,  hold  office  or  vote, 
She  mav  engineer  turret  or  trestle, 
And  build  a  few  ships  tliat  will  float. 

She  may  lecture  (all  lectures  uut  curtain) 
Make  money,  and  naturally  spend, 
If  I  let  her  have  her  way,  I  'm  certain 
She  'U  lat  lue  ,  ia»«  miM  \a  the  end  ! 


IN    PHILISTIA 

OF  all  the  places  on  the  map. 
Some  queer  and  others  queerer, 
Arcadia  is  dear  to  me, 
Philistia  is  dearer. 

There  dwell  the  few  who  never  knew 
The  pangs  of  heavenly  hunger. 
As  fresh  and  fair  and  fond  and  frail 
As  when  the  world  was  younger. 
70 


If  there  is  any  sweeter  sound 
Than  bobolinks  or  thrushes, 
It  IS  \\\^  frou-frou  of  their  silks  — 
The  roll  of  their  barouches. 

Ilove  them  even  when  they  're  cood 

WhJn'  if  "''""  "I'y  '^"^  sinners^-  ' 
When  they  are  sad  and  worldly  wise 
And  when  they  are  beginners. 

(I  say  I  do  ;  of  course  the  fact, 
J  or  better  or  for  worse,  is. 
My  unerratic  life  denies 
My  too  erotic  verses.) 

.' ^°.'«  "Pon  their  waywardness, 

If  !"■  *°;'''"  ^"•i  "'eir  follies. 

Ppr^lrf  ^^  ■"^l'^'^''  P^"=  than  Di's, 
i'erhaps  it  may  be  Dolly's. 

They  have  no  ;'  problems  "  to  discuss. 
No  "theories  "to  discover: 

They  are  not -new";  and  1-1  am 
Their  very  grateful  lover. 

I  care  not  if  their  minds  confuse 

Alastor  with  Aladdin  ■ 

And  Cimabue  is  far  less 

To  them  than  Chimmie  Fadden. 

They  never  heard  of  William  Blake 
Nor  saw  a  Botticelli  ■  "'itc, 

I^H°"^  '';.  v7°"'''  ""  death,  Louise  " 
And  one,  "  Your  loving  Nelly  " 

71 


/«  PhUiitia 


In  PUiittia  They  never  tease  me  for  my  views. 
Nor  tax  me  with  my  grammar ; 
Nor  test  me  on  the  latest  news, 
Until  I  have  to  stammer. 

They  never  talk  aljout  their  "  moods," 
They  never  know  they  have  them  ; 
The  world  is  good  enough  lor  them. 
And  that  is  why  I  love  them. 

They  never  puzzle  me  with  Greek, 
Nor  drive  me  mad  with  Ibsen  ; 
Yet  o.'er  forms  as  fair  as  Eve's 
They  wear  the  gowns  of  Gibson. 


PEACE 

THERE  is  peace,  you  say.     I  believe  you. 
Peace?     Ay,  we  '<now  it  well  — 
Not  the    peace  of   the  smile  of  God,  bitt   the 

peace  of  the  leer  of  Hell, 
Peace,  that  the  rich  may  fatten  and  barter  their 

souls  for  gain. 
Peace,  that  the  hungry  may  slay  and  rob  the 

corpse  of  the  slain. 
Peace,  that   the   heart  of  the  people  may  rot 

with  a  vile  gangrene. 
What  though  the  men  are  bloodless  I    What's 

a  man  to  a  machine  ? 


Here  you  come  with  your  Economics.     If  ever 

the  Devil  designed 
A  science,   i  was  yours,  I  doubt  not  a  study  to 

Hell's  own  mind, 

72 


Merdless.  soulless.  so«W.  the  science  of  „lfi.h  /■„„ 

'te;^^:.°:,t,r"'<'f„a.ons,as.i. 
■he   wealth  of  nai 
cotton  and  gold. 


were  Dougiit  and  sold  ! 
"^co^rl'L"!;;,^''"-   -   -n,  no.   Silk   »d 


Tre^rVXi^L'^.  ''"'"'  -""  *"-  ■'  "-  too 
"" tl'o"d%he7  """y  ''""''^^  ^^'"  W  fo^  "-■  "'- 

'^e^i'^j^'^di^^^..-:^  -"^  -"-•  -° 

loi'derl'n'^.eir'^  °^  ^™'"-  "^  "^  "- 

?e;?'v;:^u;:!^'^^^^^-^''-co™« 

73 


Piact  But  there 's  yet  one  woe  far  worse  than  war  with 

its  griefs  and  graves  — 
To  sink  to  a  nation  of  cowards,  sycophants, 

thieves  and  slaves, 
There  is  one  thing  for   man  or  nation  more 

within  man's  control 
And  worse  than  the  death  of  the  body,  and  that 

is  the  death  of  the  soul. 
But  the  sins  of  the  city  are  silent  and  her  ruin 

is  wrought  by  stealth 
And  the  sores  that  fester  are  cloaked  and  her 

rottenness  masks  as  health. 


True  Peace  is  a  holy  thing  —  the  peace  God 

gives  to  his  own, 
Heart's  peace,  though  the  body  move  where  the 

thickest  shot  is  thrown. 
Deeps  of  peace  forever  unplumbed  by  a  mortal 

eye  — 
But  the  peace  of  the  world  is  the  Devil's,  a 

mockery  and  a  iie, 
Better  city  arrayed  against  city  and  hamlet  with 

hamlet  at  strife. 
So  valour  outvalue  lucre  and  honour  be  more 

than  life. 


LYRIC 

Frem  the  Princh  of  Maurice  Maeterlinck, 

AND  if  some  day  he  come  back. 
What  should  he  be  told  ?  — 
Tell  him  he  was  waited  for. 
Till  my  heart  was  cold. 
74 


And  if  he  ask  me  yet  again, 

Not  recognizing  me  ? 

Speak  him  fair  and  sisterly  j 
His  heart  breaks,  maybe. 

And  if  he  ask  me  where  you  are. 
What  shall  I  reply?—    -y""  ^'^^• 
Give  him  my  golden  ring, 
And  make  no  reply. 

And  if  he  ask  me  why  the  hall 
Is  left  desolate.'  — 
Show  him  the  unlit  lamp 
And  the  open  gate. 

And  if  he  shmujd  ask  me,  then. 

How  you  fell  asleep .' 

Tell  him  that  I  smiled,  for  fear 
Lest  he  should  weep. 


A  Lyric 


companion  went   in  the 


THE   LOST   COMRADE 

NOW  who  will  tell  me  aright 
The  way  my  lost  companioi 
night  ? 

"rUrif  men,'"""''^  "''°  P^""  f™-   ^^e 
And  will  not  come  again. 

I  have  wandered  up  and  down 
town*,''  ^"  "'^  ""■^^'^  "^  ""'^  ''"«'"  ^"d  b"sy 

Yet  no  one  has  seen  a  trace  of  him  since  the  day 

He  sdently  went  away.  ' 

7J 


Tlu  LttI 
Comtratlg 


!  have  haunted  the  wKants  and  the  slipi. 
And  talked  with  foreigners  from  the  incoming 

ships; 
But  when  I  questioned  them  cloaeN  about  my 

friend. 
They  seeme^l  not  to  comprehend. 

From  men  of  book-learning,  to<v 

1  have  sought  knowledge,  co»lid««t  that  they 

knew  ; 
But  when  I  inquired  simply  about  my  chum, 
y  glanced  at  me  and  wew;  dumb. 

1  have  entered  your  chucvhes  of  stone, 

4nd  heard  discourse  about  God  and  the  throng 

round  his  throne : 
But  the  preacher  knew  nothing  at  all,  when  I 

broke  in  withs  '  Where  ?  " 
And  the  people  could  only  stare. 

Ah,  no,  vou  may  read  and  read, 

Pile  modern  heresy  upon  ancient  creed  ! 

But  for  all  your  study  you  know  no  more  than  I, 

Under  the  open  sky. 

So  't  is.  Back  to  the  Inn  I  for  me, 

Where  my  great  friend  and  I  were  happy  and 

free. 
And  I  will  remember  his  beautiful  words  and 

his  ways. 
For  the  rest  of  my  days. 

How  eager  he  was  for  truth, 
Yet  never  scorned  the  good  things  of  his  youlh, 
The  soul  of  gentleness  and  the  soul  of  love ! 
I  shall  be  wise  enough. 


TEN  COMMANDMENTS 
//  it  right; 

__  _  ,  I.    LOVE 

_  II.    FAITH 

nli;"/'     !  '''^  *'"'  '"'"''=  "»  '»  goo''  and  will 
not  forget  us. 

III.    OBEDIENCE 

°  w^J  ,"'°"=  '^';°  •'f*^  'he  right  to  hold  them- 
selves responsible  for  us. 

~    ,     ,  ,     ,      'V-   "OPE 

g^d  heart  H,''"^'"  ''^^  "'  "''"S»  »nd  keep  a 
_      .         J        ,        V.    COURAGE 

to  dare  do  whatever  we  think  we  ought  to  do. 

VI.    CHEERFULNESS 

c thX."*  "'"■  '^°°^'  ''*PP>'  '^^'"'e*'  °°'  the 
Vn.    PRUDENCE 

I  o  use  our  intelligence  to  avoid  trouble. 

//  is  -wrong : 

J^A   .°',''"'''  ^"y  ""^^  "<:=P'  for  a  p-eater 
good ;  to  be  mean  and  selfish  ;  to  be  unjust. 

IX 

To  tell  lies  except  when  people  ask  what  they 
have  no  nght  to  know.  " 


To  do  anything  dirty,  or  ugly,  or  intemperate. 


QUATRAINS 

LIFE  M  il  ii  I    Accept  it ;  it  is  thine  I 
The  God  that  gave  it,  gave  it  for  thy  good 
The  God  that  made  it  had  not  been  divine 
Could  he  have  let  thee  poiaon  for  thy  food. 


Abstain  not;  Life  and  Love,  lilte  night  and  day. 
Offer  themselves  to  us  on  their  own  terms, 

Not  ours.    Accept  their  bounty  while  ye  may, 

Before  we  be  accepted  by  the  worms. 


We  rail  at  Time  and  Chance,  and  break  our 

hearts 
To  malte  the  glory  of  to-day  endure. 
Is  the  sun  dead  because  the  day  departs? 
And  are  the  suns  of  Life  and  Lnve  less  sure  ? 


Fear  not  the  menace  of  the  bye-and-bye. 
To-day  is  ours;  to-morrow  Fate  must  five. 
Stretcn  out  your  hands  and  eat,  although  ye 

die! 
Better  to  die  than  never  once  to  live. 


THE   ADVENTURERS 

WE  are  adventurers  who  come 
Before  the  merchants  and  the  priests ; 
Our  only  legacy  from  home, 
A  wisdom  older  than  the  East's. 
78 


Soldiers  of  ("ortune,  we  unfurl 
The  banniTs  of  a  forlorn  hope, 
Leaving  the  citv  smoke  to  curl 

0  er  dingy  roofs  whcrt  puppets  mope. 

}Y,t  ""  "'*  'shmaelites  of  earth 
Who  at  the  crossroads  beat  the  drum  ■ 
None  guess  our  lineage  nor  our  birth,' 

1  he  flag  we  serve  nor  whence  wc  come. 

We  I  laim  a  Sire  that  no  man  knows 
1  he  i;mperor  of  Nights  and  Days, 
Who  saith  to  Caesar,  "Go,"_  he  goes, 
To  Alexander,  "  Stay,"  —  he  stays. 

Out  of  a  creater  town  than  Tyre. 
We  march  to  conquer  and  control 
The  golden  hill-lands  of  Desire 
The  Nicaraguas  of  the  soul. 

We  have  cist  in  our  lot  with  Truth  ; 
We  will  not  flincli  nor  stay  thu  hand. 
Till  on  the  last  skyline  of  youth 
W'e  look  down  on  his  fair  new  l.md. 

We  put  fiom  port  without  a  fear. 
For  Fr.edom  .  n  this  Spanish  Main; 

(ir"n  j'"^  ^'''^*-  *'""  '''■■"  '"^™  "'  here 
Will  drive  our  galleys  humc  again. 

If  not,  we  can  lie  down  and  die. 
Content  to  perish  with  our  peers. 
So  one  more  rood  we  gained  thereby 
For  Love's  Dominion  through  the  years. 

79 


Imrrrt 


tMaOCOn   RESOtUTUN   TIST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


-APPLIED  IIVHGE    U 

'653  East  Moin  Street 

??f.v"It[i  *^  '^O''''        '■♦609       USA 

(716)  «2  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)  288-5989  -fax 


THIS  BOOK  WAS  PHINTED  BV  JOHN  W/LSO>, 
AND  SON,  AT  THE  UNIVERSITY  p"„r"M 
BR.DCE.    D„,„o    ,„,    autumn"";    .;:,■ 


/ -'^'^ 


*     .^f] 


NOTHING  I  BROUG»«T  TO 
BUT  THE  GARB  OF  URUDDTt 
SUITED  FOR  PLEA  .^URE  C 
BEFITTING  A  RO    ^VING 


NOTHING  I 
BUT  THE 
AND  THAT, 
I  NEEDS  MUST 


BROUC    -HT 


TRAVELI    ,ER' 


WHEI    .1 


'^ftis^K-  -. 


DI     43P 


TC 
•SCD 
CAM! 
BY 


T  .f^ ;'//,-:  .77/F-^ 


